


The Lightning Strike

by JessariOfErebor



Series: Iridescent [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: AKA halfling leaf is pot, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMF Bilbo Baggins, BAMF Dwarves, Battle of Five Armies - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Bickering, Complete re-write, Cultural Differences, Dwarven Ones | Soulmates, Dwarven courtship, Dwarven magic, Feels are a thing, Humor, Long battle scenes, More tags the further we go, Multi, Recreational Drug Use, Referenced Mpreg, Rightous Dwarven Jealousy, Sassy Bilbo, Smut, Teasing, all those nights we never got to see, but I don't want to give away too much, eventual dwarven politics, not a slow burn, random campfire moments, soul bonds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2018-07-22 16:08:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 80,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7445413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessariOfErebor/pseuds/JessariOfErebor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins, a Hobbit who has spent summers with elves since childhood and has a few tricks up his sleeve, is invited on a quest by Gandalf the Grey. A story filled with battle, love, friendship, and more side adventures than Bilbo could have ever dreamed.</p><p>
  <i>"It is the magic of my people, the magic that rests in us from birth and awakens only when it finds the catalyst. A key is just metal without a lock. A lock cannot be opened without a key. You are the key. Do you understand now, what we are awakening? Lying together will open and bond us, not just for tonight, but for life.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Many Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> The first two chapters follow canon dialogue closely. 
> 
> Important, changed information on our favorite hobbit:  
> Bilbo has a long friendship with the elves of Rivendell, courtesy of his mother, from her adventuring days with Gandalf. He has learned many things from them, least of all their language. Gandalf has been around more often than he was in the book, and in the movie: in fact, he saw Bilbo quite a bit as a child, and five or six times since then. He reveals the last time they saw each other in the first chapter. Some things may not make sense at first, but I will explain them through the text. If they are too different from the original, I will add it in a note. (This goes for further chapters as well.)

The Shire was a lovely place, full of laughter, love, and endless rivers of fauntlings begging for treats. Bilbo was currently at the mercy of two of them, lovely identical twin girls, their raven hair pulled back in curly pigtails. Their only distinguishing factor was the color of the ribbons in their hair, blue and red respectively.

“Please Mister Baggins!” they cried, smiling their best smiles, bright eyes the color of the Shire’s hills. No taller than his waist and always quick to help, in his eyes, there were no better fauntlings in all the shire.

Bilbo sighed dramatically, an amused grin sneaking onto his lips even as he pulled out another muffin. “This is the last one, ladies. You mother will have my feet if you’re too full to eat your second breakfasts!”

They both squealed in delight, splitting the muffin evenly and beginning to eat even as they ran down the hill from Bag-End. “Thank you Mister Baggins!” they yelled in unison, their giggles following them around the bend.

Settling his empty basket on the bench beside him, Bilbo sat in front of his smial with a contented smile and watched the Shire go about its everyday life. His previously dirty blonde hair, now a lighter medium blonde after being in the sun all summer, glinted in the sunlight. He lit his pipe, glad to have remembered it, and closed his eyes, blowing smoke rings as he did so. He never needed to see them to know they were perfect. Through his calm, he felt as if he was being watched. Opening his eyes, he saw the unexpected visitor on his doorstep.

“Gandalf!” He cried, standing up and immediately embracing the much taller visitor who had arrived. Sure, hobbits were not generally fond of unexpected company, but for this one in particular he could make an exception. Surprised, gruff laughter emitted from the gray-clad wizard, who clearly had not been expecting such an excited hobbit upon his arrival.

“Bilbo! What a lovely meeting,” said Gandalf, ending their hug and moving the basket on the bench so they could sit together. “I had surely hoped you would remember me, despite it only being a couple decades since I was last here.” At this he pulled out his pipe and began to pack it, intent on joining his companion in smoking.

“Of course I couldn’t forget you or your wonderful fireworks,” laughed Bilbo, a smile gracing his softer features. “What brings you to the Shire? I’ve only recently returned from Rivendell myself, you see. I’m glad not to have missed you!”

Gandalf quirked an eyebrow at that, unaware that his dear Belladonna’s son was still visiting elves at his age. _No matter,_ he mused. _Perhaps they have taught him something that will be of use for this journey. At least he hasn’t become stuffy like so many of his kind do._

“Well, my friend, there is something I have come to see you about. I am looking for someone in search of an adventure.” Here he paused to light his pipe with a match, giving a few experimental puffs to make sure it was going, before checking Bilbo’s reaction in the corner of his eye. In all honesty, the hobbit looked torn. A light frown pulled at his brow.

“Ah. I see…Do you need help delivering fireworks across the mountains or such? I’m sure there are some Tooks across the way that would be more than happy to assist –“

“Excuse me! Do you not remember who I am? I am no simple firework maker!” At this Gandalf puffed his chest a bit, clearly insulted by the unintended slight. Bilbo closed his eyes to hide the fact that he was rolling them. Clearly he was being a bit too gentle with the hint. “I am a wizard, Master Baggins, and don’t you forget it!”

“Of course I remember that. I do remember one of our chats in Rivendell long ago.” He scoffed at the idea of being able to forget he was friends – if mostly through his mother, Yvanna rest her soul – with a _wizard,_ of all people. “It’s only, I was hoping to get at my garden soon. You have to understand, it’s grown quite wild with me gone. Not that I would ever pass up a chance to see the young Estel, alas, my tomatoes are hardly in the shape to win this year. Also I have plenty of others that need –“

“Yes, yes,” Gandalf sighed, waving his hand dismissively. “I’m sure your vegetables are in dire need of attention after such an absence. However, there is a much bigger plan at hand, one that I believe you will be interested in.” He paused, contemplating the pond beneath them as he took another drag from his pipe. Bilbo sent a smoke ring that was quickly joined by a moth flapping through it, and he chuckled, clearly amused by the wizard’s antics. After a few minutes, their conversation continued.

“What do you know of Dwarves?” Gandalf asked carefully.

“Well,” Bilbo pulled on his pipe a few times, debating on how to answer. “I know that they travel through here and Bree on business, as Ered Luin is not too far from here. I also know,” puff, “That they are a very secretive race, and when I try to ask them anything, will simply glare at me and move along their business. So not much at all, really. Though not by my own will,” he insisted with a raised eyebrow, poking in the direction of Gandalf with his intricate, vine-wrapped pipe. “Why, is there a damsel in distress? I’m sure the Ered Luin dwarves would be more than happy to help. I’ve heard tales of a dwarrowdam named Dis, who seems quite intent on making sure her people are protected at all costs.”

Gandalf raised his eyebrows in surprise, eyes wide, barely managing to catch his pipe before it fell from his mouth. “And where did you learn such things? Names such as hers are not common around these parts.” Bilbo merely shrugged.

“Bree. You’d be surprised at how easily Dwarves talk after a few pints and the _illusion_ of security in a crowded inn,” he grinned at Gandalf, clearly unashamed of his eavesdropping. 

“Ah, I see.” Gandalf smiled and was intent on his pipe, perfectly happy with letting Bilbo wonder for a few more minutes while simply enjoying the Shire. Of all the places in Middle Earth, none felt quite as peaceful to the wizard as the lands of these small gardening peoples; even if they could be insufferable at times with their gossip. Bilbo, on the other hand, was someone who learned as much as he could and kept it to himself. The Took blood was strong in him, and Gandalf thanked his lucky stars for that.

“I would prefer you to hear the story from them, not me. It is quite the tale, my dear Bilbo.”

The hobbit rolled his eyes at a nearby tree, sighing in exasperation. _Bloody wizards, always being so mysterious and vague. For once, I wish he would just out with it._

“Very well, Gandalf. I will meet your companions on this quest. But!” He exclaimed with a sniff, “I will decide for myself whether or not I accompany you! I am loathe to leave my home, especially so soon after returning. And as you know, big adventures are nasty things, make you late for dinner.” The last sentence was said in jest, a deadpan that Gandalf caught with a wide smile.

“Well, that settles it then! I will be by in two days’ time for dinner, along with my traveling companions. I will see you then!” The wizard quickly stood and walked off, leaving a sputtering Bilbo in his wake, choking on smoke and therefore unable to comment against it. _How dare he run off without telling me how many to expect? I suppose I will have to prepare a small feast just in case….clearly, this is quite a deal to him. If it was something small, he would be sure to tell me._ Grumbling to himself and straightening his red waistcoat while his pipe sat loose in the corner of his mouth, he shuffled off towards his round, green front door. _First I will need to check the market, make sure I have plenty of ale, and of course there is the matter of packing, despite the slim chances of me running off before the final summer vegetable contest…_

Having reached the inside of his smial, he puttered about the doorway, still fretting over all that needed to be done. As he did so, a scratching sound came through his door. Looking through the window beside it, his steel blue eyes lit up from the outside light, he saw Gandalf walking off down the path. Bilbo huffed and went towards the kitchen, irritated with the wizard for messing up the appearance of his door. _This had better be interesting, at least. That paint job cost me two bushels of onions._

_**********************************_

There were many things Bilbo Baggins was talented at, and one of them was being a gracious host. As a Baggins, he had been taught from a young age the importance of a good meal and even better manners. “No matter how they act, you should always keep your composure and make sure your guests are happy,” Bilbo’s father had always said. His mother, Belladonna, was known well throughout the Shire for being quite the hostess herself, and while she could be as gracious as any, none could stand up to his father’s charms. “Never underestimate the worth of a good meal,” she would say, putting about the kitchen while his father set the table. These were important lessons for young hobbits, and Bilbo would never forget them. If anything, after his parents’ deaths, he became much more hobbit-like. Rarely would he run off on adventures anymore, and the most he ever got up to were his summers spent in Rivendell, learning very un-hobbity things.

Under the tutelage of Elladan and Elrohir, Elrond’s twin sons, he quickly learned Sindarian and became fluent (reading and writing) by the time he was twenty; a record amongst non-elves. His mother had been very excited and always encouraged him, reminding him that though most of his race were alright with staying in the Shire for their entire lives, the world was a very big and exciting place. His father rarely accompanied them in Rivendell, preferring to stay at home and tend to the smial, along with the garden and the necessities of everyday life. Not to say that he disliked the elves; on the contrary, he enjoyed their company and their singing even more. However, he was a simple Baggins, and while his wife may have been an adventurer, he felt the pull of home and disliked leaving more than once every five or so years.

Thus, Bilbo knew quite a bit about elves and their customs. Dwarves, however, were an entirely new area. He quickly scanned through all his books, reading all he had to offer on the secretive race and finding very little. After many disappointed sighs, he gave up searching through his books and continued with making dinner. It was the second day since Gandalf left, and he had little time before his new guests would be arriving.

A few hours later, satisfied with the small feast he had laid out across the table, he rocked on his heels and nodded before heading off towards the bathroom. He bathed, being sure to scrub all the dirt off of his skin and out of his hair, before drying off and heading to his bedroom.

Minutes later he stood checking his appearance in the mirror, his red waist-coat over the yellow shirt and light brown pants, hiding his suspenders, and he figured he was as presentable as any other hobbit of the Shire. Making his way to the door of his bedroom, his mother’s jewelry box caught his eye, and a mischievous look passed his face as he went over to it. Opening the polished dark wood lid, he sifted through a few necklaces of his mother’s before finding what he was looking for: a single gold ear cuff with many entwined vines, adorned with a small garnet. _This should make them think twice_ he thought, quite excited about the idea. _A hobbit with ear jewelry – only my mother was ever that bold._ Pride swelled his chest, emboldened by Belladonna’s spirit.

As soon as Bilbo finished hooking the cuff around the side of his ear (accentuating the soft point to be found above it), a heavy knock sounded throughout his home. Taking a deep breath and smoothing out his clothes, he headed towards the foyer with confidence and a slight bit of trepidation. Opening the door, he found a thick dwarf who seemed to be carved out of the very stone his people were known for loving. A heavy axe was across his back.

“Dwalin, at your service,” the dwarf said, bowing to Bilbo. Bilbo smiled, determined to be the perfect host.

“Bilbo Baggins at yours,” and returned the bow. The dwarf’s eyes rested on his ear, and a tiny nudge upward of his left eyebrow was the only tell that told Bilbo his jewelry had been noted. “The food is down the hall, help yourself to whatever you need.” He took Dwalin’s cloak and weapons, setting them down before quickly shuffling down the hall and getting his guest ale. “How many of you are coming?” he asked casually as he sat the wooden mug in front of the dwarf. Dwalin ignored him for a few moments, downing the ale quickly and clumsily, before slamming down the tankard. “Another! Thirteen.” At that he quickly dug into the food, allowing Bilbo a moment to himself while retrieving the ale.

 _So many,_ he thought with surprise as he fiddled with the barrel. _No wonder Gandalf didn’t say anything. Probably afraid I’d run for the hills the moment I learned of the true number of dwarves I’d have inside my home._

As soon as he placed the tankard in front of Dwalin, another knock sounded. “That’ll be the door,” growled Dwalin through a leg of chicken. Bilbo inclined his head towards him, before stepping out to answer it.

A short, older dwarf with white hair was in front of him. Red robes adorned him, and Bilbo couldn’t help but admire the color.

“Balin, at your service.” A bow accentuated his words.

“Bilbo Baggins at yours. Good evening!” Bilbo bowed back, having caught on that this was some sort of dwarvish tradition.

“Yes, yes it is,” was the dwarf’s reply, “Though I think it might rain later.” The second part was said with concern. “Am I late?”

“No, not at all!” Bilbo marveled at the dwarf’s accent and tried to imagine a language where such rolling sounds were needed. “In fact, you are quite early. One of your company has already arrived and is eating.” At this, Balin stepped in, handing Bilbo his outer cloak even as his eyes roamed and met those of Dwalin, who had come to see who was arriving and decided to attempt taking advantage of the cookie jar on the mantle: despite the fact his hand could not fit inside.

“Oh! Evening brother,” Balin said as he slowed his pace, bouncing low on his feet as his face lit up in a wide smile.

“By my beard! You are shorter and wider than last we met.” A playful smile on the broad dwarf’s face as he set the cookies down, momentarily forgotten.

“Wider, not shorter. And sharp enough for both of us,” Balin said with a wink. Dwalin put his hands on his brother’s shoulders and Balin’s covered his forearms, before they brought their heads together with a loud crack that surprised Bilbo. _Goodness, I’m surprised they didn’t hurt each other,”_ he mused, even more curious about his rough visitors.

Balin and Dwalin headed to the back, catching up and eager to get back to the food. Bilbo hung up Balin’s cloak beside his brother’s, and had barely finished that small task before the door rang again. He opened it this time to two much younger dwarves.

“Fili,” said the blonde on the left, “And Kili,” the brunet on the right, before bowing in unison while saying “At your service.” “You must be Mister Boggins!” exclaimed Kili, excited.

“Indeed I am,” Bilbo said with a smile and a bow, not bothering to correct him on the pronunciation of his name. Bilbo stepped back to allow them in even as they began taking off their weapons. Their confidence intrigued Bilbo even more. _Was the blond one…swaggering?_

“Be careful with these,” said Fili, “I’ve just had them sharpened.” He unloaded his weapons into Bilbo’s arms, entrusting him to put them in safe place. Kili did the same, though he paid less attention to his host and more to their accommodations for the night. He ran his eyes over the solid wood arches, taking in the intricate designs and signs of master woodwork. “It’s nice, this place. Did you do it yourself?”

Bilbo smiled at the compliment and indulged the young dwarf. “No actually, my father built it for my mother as a courting gift.” Bilbo missed the new way the dwarf looked at the smial, in wonder and no small amount of surprise. By the time he finished showing them to the kitchen, his bell was ringing again. He sat the weapons on the chest in the hall before opening the door, curious to see how many visitors were showing up this time.

As he opened the door, a large group of dwarves fell inside, and he barely managed to jump back in time to avoid being crushed by them. Stunned, he reached out a hand and helped a few of them up before making eye contact with Gandalf. The old wizard eeked out a pained half-smile, clearly expecting the hobbit to be upset about the turn of events. Needless to say, Bilbo was merely amused at the dwarves currently struggling to escape from under their fellows. Once Gandalf saw his true feelings on the matter, he smiled, glad to see his friend was not over-encumbered by the clumsy dwarves. Bilbo took all of their weapons and gestured to the coat rack when one of them, a smaller red-head, asked where to put his cloak. He introduced himself to the company and bowed, instructing them on where to find the others. After they hung up their cloaks they all introduced themselves, and afterwards Bilbo was left with his head spinning from all the new names he had absorbed. _Well, it will certainly take awhile to learn all of them,_ he thought, excited by the challenge presented. _Not that I’m going for sure,_ he checked himself. _Mustn’t get too ahead of myself now. Think of the tomatoes!_

Once all the dwarves were seated and eating merrily, Bilbo stepped out to the kitchen in order to grab a new plate of biscuits. All the ones he had put in the dining room had already been ate. As he came back to the dining room, he paused in the doorway, hearing Dwalin (who had finished eating already due to him being there earlier than the others) talking with Gandalf. The former was leaning against the doorframe of the dining room, and the latter standing in front of him.

“We appear to be one dwarf short,” Gandalf said, frowning.

Dwalin, clearly content from being filled with warm food and mead, assuaged his fears. “He is late, is all. He traveled north to a meeting of our kin. He will come.” Gandalf sighed, not happy with the answer but accepting there was nothing he could do about it.

 _Interesting,_ thought Bilbo as he brought the biscuits into the dining room. Fili jumped up and reached for the plate immediately, giving Bilbo an appreciative smile and head nod. Sitting down in Gandalf’s temporarily forgotten seat, Bilbo pondered on the missing dwarf. As if his thoughts had something to do with it, a few loud knocks echoed throughout the smial, and all talk quickly diminished to silence, the only voice speaking up being Gandalf.

“He is here.”

Quickly, all of the dwarves stood up and practically ran, gathering around the door. Gandalf opened it, and a tall dwarf in a sky blue cloak stood on the other side. “Gandalf,” the unknown visitor said, a smile easing across his face. “I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice. Wouldn’t have been able to find it at all, if it hadn’t been for that mark on the door.” At that, Bilbo pushed his way past Dori and finally got a glimpse of the dwarf in his home. _So that’s what the scraping was about,_ Bilbo thought. _A homing beacon of sorts._ Walking to stand beside of Gandalf, the wizard began introductions.

“Bilbo Baggins, let me introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield.” Bilbo turned from Gandalf, just as Thorin looked at him. Thorin made eye contact with Bilbo, shoving his coat onto Kili without even a glance. A shot of _something_ rippled through them both. A few in the company shook themselves, unsure of the sudden chill that ran down their spines. Thorin, on his part, briefly looked as if he had been struck before it faded to amusement. He moved forward without his own volition, feeling an inexplicable tug.

“So. This is the hobbit,” he said, crossing his arms as he spoke. Mirth narrowed his eyes, and a grin tugged at his lips.

 _Striking,_ thought Bilbo. _His eyes._ He was shook out of his short reverie by Thorin asking a question, that grin still plastered across his face.

“Tell me Mister Baggins, have you done much fighting?” Thorin began circling Bilbo, looking him up and down. Bilbo muttered, “Pardon me?” still too off balance to think of anything proper to say. “Axe or sword, what’s your weapon of choice?” A bright grin lit Bilbo’s face as he turned his head to his left quickly, in order to keep the raven haired dwarf in his sight. He blushed slightly, noting where Thorin’s eyes had been.

“Well, I do have some skill at knives, if you must know.” Bilbo puffed up even as he looked Thorin up and down, as blatant as one could get without being rude, taking in Thorin’s large bearing and trying to _not_ appreciate it. Pulling himself up to his full height he continued, “But I fail to see…how that is relevant.”

“Thought as much. Still, he looks more like a grocer than a burglar.” Thorin’s grin evolved to a full-shit eating one at that, and he moved away only to be stopped by Bilbo’s voice behind him.

“I don’t need a ridiculously heavy axe or sword to deal with my enemies, Master Oakenshield.” Thorin turned, clearly surprised at being talked back to. Bilbo smirked and crossed his own arms, pleased to have the upper hand. He had been insulted in his own home, propriety be damned. “Hobbits are not fond of overcompensation, you see.”

The company muttered around them, clearly shocked at his words. Thorin himself took in the hobbit again with new eyes. Striking blue landed on the jewelry around Bilbo’s ear, and Bilbo could swear he… _felt_ , Thorin’s gaze. Thorin’s eyes were somewhat hooded, his face alit with new curiosity. He stepped heavily towards the hobbit and Bilbo became nervous, afraid that he might be challenged to a duel of some sort. _You never know what to expect with these rough types. And I did challenge him…oh dear._

“Is that so, Master Baggins?” His voice was quiet, deeper, and with an underlying hint of _danger_. Bilbo had never been so affected by a voice in all his life. Determined to keep that little fact to himself, he nodded, daring to take a half step closer to the dwarf. Thorin continued: “Just so you know, ‘overcompensation’ has nothing to do with the size of our weapons. They are simply the ones that suit us best.” His head was tilted down, looking directly into Bilbo’s steel blue eyes, and on his last sentence his voice dropped an octave, “You can trust that.”

Bilbo blushed, properly chastised and embarrassed at the slight innuendo, though not enough to give ground. Thorin turned on his heel and headed into the kitchen. The company followed close behind, most shooting Bilbo various shocked looks as they passed, and their volume stayed low.

 _Well. Wasn’t that interesting?_ Bilbo thought. He turned to look at Gandalf, who was staring at him with an unreadable expression upon his face. Some odd mix of surprise, shock, and something else he couldn’t name. Bilbo extended his arm towards the other dwarves. “After you.”


	2. Reasons Behind Hesitancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A familiar conversation with an unexpected revelation, along with a beautiful song. For the book lovers, instruments are used as well. This is the version of Misty Mountains Cold that I imagine, and I strongly suggest listening to it once you reach the scene, as it adds a lot of depth. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P8ymgFyzbDo

Over the course of thirty minutes all the dwarves had finished feasting, with the exception of Thorin who was completing his soup.

“What news from the meeting in Erid Luin? Did they all come?” Asked Balin. Silence fell across the table, all eagerly awaiting his response.

“Aye, envoys from all seven kingdoms,” said Thorin with a small smile. While the other dwarves talked excitedly, Dwalin looked at his king, well aware that had Thorin’s request been accepted, at least one of their kin would have accompanied him here. Steadily, he asked Thorin the important question that they all wanted to know.

“And what do the dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?”

Thorin took a deep breath before replying, though his face said it all. “They will not come,” he rumbled, looking at Balin. Disappointed sighs and many mutterings followed his statement. “They say this quest is ours, and ours alone.”

“You’re going on a quest?” Bilbo piped up, standing by Gandalf’s right elbow and partially behind Thorin. Thorin ignored him and went back to his soup, finishing it and allowing the wizard to fill in the blanks.

“Bilbo, my fellow, let us have a little more light.” Bilbo brought forth a candle, and Gandalf continued. “Far to the east, over ridges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak.” All this was said as he unfolded a very old dwarvish map, smoothing it out across the table. Dwalin moved Thorin’s bowl so it was out of the way, and Bilbo leaned forward to get a better look.

“The...Lonely Mountain,” Bilbo read, rolling the words over in his mouth.

“Aye,” spoke up Gloin, “Oin has read the portents, and the portents say it is _time._ ” His words were heavy with emphasis, as heavy as the subject itself. Oin cut in next. “Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain as it was foretold.” He leaned forward slightly, and Bilbo found himself drawn into the healer’s words. “When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end.” At this, Bilbo perked up as the others sat around in awe, as the true enormity of their quest hit them.

“Uhm, what beast?” _Reclaiming a lost dwarven city? What a quest indeed! Now we have gotten to the true reason why Gandalf told me no more than necessary._ Bofur took it upon himself (not that he minded, in fact he was quite entertained and interested as to how the small hobbit would reply to _this_ ) to explain what exactly awaited them at the Lonely Mountain.

“Well,” he said with no lack of dramatics, “That would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne fire-breather. Teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks.” Here he paused briefly before adding in as an afterthought, “Extremely fond of precious metals.”

It took no little effort on Bilbo’s part to not roll his eyes, though his tone and sharp look implied it for him. “Yes, I know what a dragon is.”

At this, Ori stood up so fast his chair scraped across the floor. “I’m not afraid, I’m up for it. I’ll give him a taste of Dwarvish iron right up his jacksie!”

The dwarves hummed in agreement and even as Dori pulled him down into his seat, his other brother Nori called out with a laugh, “Good lad Ori!”

All voices were silenced and eyes moved to Balin as he began speaking. “The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us…but we number just thirteen. And not thirteen of the best…nor brightest.” His words were met with a slight uproar of voices as he solemnly met eyes with Thorin and Gandalf. “Who are you calling dim!” “Sorry, what did he say?”

Fili pounded the table with his fist, drawing all attention to him. Bilbo couldn’t help but wonder at him, with his golden lion’s mane. _Surely he is no simple commoner…_ “We may be few in number, but we’re fighters, ALL OF US, to the last dwarf!” He hit the table again for emphasis, while his brother Kili continued for him. “And you forget, we have a wizard with us! Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time!” Where Fili had been regal, Kili was pure energy. All eyes then turned to Gandalf, who sputtered out, “Oh, well, no. I wouldn’t say –“

“How many then?” Asked Dori to a still sputtering Gandalf, “Well, how many dragons have you killed?” As the volume in the room continued to grow, Bilbo stifled a laugh, knowing from their conversation in Rivendell decades ago that Gandalf had done no such thing, especially not hundreds of them!

Gandalf, for his part, took a drag from his pipe to buy time, and proceeded to cough on the smoke when Dori asked for a direct number. The others around him stood up, and arguing back and forth with their companions.

 _Well, this will not do,_ thought Bilbo with a rush of panic at the idea of a brawl in his dining room. “Excuse me, please calm down –“ He was cut off by Thorin yelling in dwarvish, startling him a step back before that damned tug pulled him forward again. He moved closer to Gandalf so he could see everyone better now that the tall raven haired dwarf was standing.

Normally Thorin would have been content to let them yell it out for a few minutes, but he reacted instantaneously to a sharp pang in the back of his head, yelling for order.

“If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too?” Bilbo was astounded to how the dwarves reacted to Thorin, all looking down or at Thorin, properly chastised and silent in his wake. His voice was firm and strong. “Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing. Wondering. Weighing the risk.” As he spoke, his eyes roamed the company, holding the gaze of each dwarf in turn. “Perhaps the vast wealth of our people remains unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours?” Then he became much louder, “Or do we seize this chance to _take back_ Erebor?” He shook his fist at the end, saying something strongly in dwarvish. _He is royalty,_ realized Bilbo suddenly. _Fili, Kili…that means they must be royalty as well. They did say they were waiting on their uncle…_ Before he could make any further thoughts, Balin interrupted him as Thorin sat.

“You forget, the front gate is sealed. There is no way into the mountain.” The company and Bilbo’s thoughtful wandering became silent at his words.

Here Gandalf spoke up with a knowing smile, turning a single steel key end over top as he procured it. “That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true.”

Bilbo felt a pull towards the key and he shook his head, almost missing the taken-back expression on Thorin’s face. “How came you by this?” Thorin asked, his voice rough and barely above a whisper.

“It was given to me by your father. By Thrain. For safekeeping.” At this, Thorin looked at the wizard as if he held his entire home in his hands; which, perchance, he did. “It is yours now.” Gandalf handed over the key and Thorin continued to look at it, enraptured. He enclosed it in his palm gently.

“If there is a key,” spoke up Fili, “There must be a door.” Here the brothers looked around the company, no small amount of wonder in their eyes. Hope once again filled the faces of every dwarf.

Gandalf began to explain about the map, but the only part Bilbo was able to absorb was a small note about dwarf doors being invisible while sealed. His mind was wrapped in awe and hope, along with a sudden interest in Thorin’s short beard and pink lips. His query flicked his eyes to Bilbo and the hobbit bit his lip, refusing to blush before turning his attention back to Gandalf, unaware of the curious look in the dwarf’s eyes. _What has gotten into me? I feel so invested and I’ve never even met these folks before, not to mention Thorin. What would my mother say? ...On second thought, her response would definitely not helpful._ Bilbo returned his attention back to Gandalf.

“The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage. But, if we are careful and clever, I believe it can be done.”

Ori, stating the obvious: “That’s why we need a burglar!”

“Hm, and a good one too,” Bilbo agreed, pulling on his suspenders. He had abandoned the waistcoat during dinner, finding it a bit too stuffy. “An expert, I imagine.”

Gloin spoke: “And are you?” All eyes on Bilbo, and it finally settled on him what was happening. _Of all the possible – oh no. Yvanna no._ “What? No. No, no, no. I’m not a burglar. I’ve never stolen a thing in my life!” Bilbo looked irritated at the thought. _A burglar indeed. I am no thief! Light on my feet, sure, but I am an honest hobbit, thank you very much!_

“Well, I’m afraid I have to agree with Mister Baggins. He’s hardly burglar material,” Balin agreed. “Nope,” said Bilbo, reinforcing his previous statement. Dwalin spoke next: “Aye, the Wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves.” Thorin put his hand out, palm up towards Dwalin and nodded slightly as if to say ‘Exactly, thank you very much for being the one to finally see sense.’

The volume in the room met extremely high levels, all arguing amongst themselves, which Bilbo did not mind since they all stayed in their seats this time. It was Gandalf who quieted them, using his wizard’s power to cast a dark shadow around him and raise his voice.

“Enough! If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is!” Once he had the undivided attention of everyone from that statement, he continued. “Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most if they choose. And, while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf…the scent of a hobbit is all but unknown from him, which gives us a distinct advantage.”

 _Blasted wizard! Yes, I am extremely stealthy, but he should not be using that for my case – a case I do not even want to win! What part of DRAGON, Gandalf? Hmm? DRAGON!_ Thought Bilbo, exasperated and overall done with the wizard. Gandalf sat, locking eyes with Thorin.

“You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company and I have chosen Mister Baggins,” a nod to Bilbo before looking back to Thorin, “There’s a lot more to him than appearances suggest. And he’s got a great deal more to offer than any of you know.” Added quietly with a glance to the hobbit in question, “Including himself.” He allowed Thorin to ponder his words for a few moments before, “You must trust me on this.”

Thorin, for his part, looked as if he was signing Bilbo’s death warrant and knew it.  However, his words acquiesced Gandalf’s request. “Very well. We will do it your way.” Ignoring Bilbo’s chant of “No,” behind him, he looked to Balin. “Give him the contract.”

Voices picked back up as Balin pulled out a folded sheaf of paper. “It’s just the usual. Summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth.” He handed the contract to Thorin, who slapped it against Bilbo’s chest. Bilbo’s hands came up quickly and caught it, briefly cupping the dwarf’s hand as he did so. A shiver passed through him, while Thorin jerked his hand back as though he had been burned.

“Oh,” Bilbo sighed, unfolding the contract that was half as tall as him.

Without the hobbit’s eyes on him, Thorin stood up and leaned close to Gandalf so only he would hear his words. “I cannot guarantee his safety,” he said quietly. Perhaps if they had been face to face instead of speaking in secret, Gandalf would have seen Thorin’s slightly pained expression. Gandalf replied without hesitation. “Understood.” Thorin continued, “Nor will I be responsible for his fate.” The wizard pulled back slightly to look at his now emotionless face, pausing before saying, “Agreed.”

Bilbo had been reading the contract out loud to himself this whole time, though when he got to a certain word he could not help but turn around and say, “Incineration?” Along with the look he would get when someone told him Lobelia managed to run off with one of his silver spoons.  Bofur replied to him, “Oh aye, he’ll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye.”

Bilbo sighed, dropping the contract to his side and looking down, breathing heavily. He nodded with a slight whimper, and when Balin asked “You alright, laddie?” He could only reply “Huh? Yeah.” His mind was running with images of the dwarves he had just met, a few he was already becoming fond of, being burned to nothing by this monstrous dragon, while he was helpless to act. He bent over with his hands on his knees, breathing hard and barely even seeing his smial. “Feel a bit faint.”

Bofur quickly stood and added, “Think furnace, with wings.” “I need air,” replied Bilbo, though Bofur continued. “Flash of light, searing pain, then poof! You’re nothing but a pile of ash!”

Bilbo stood straight. “Hmph.” He met Thorin’s eyes, and all he could see was death. The noble dwarf fallen upon the ground and a gash from the dragon’s tail upon his forehead, smothering it and part of his face in blood. Deep blue eyes pleading, arm reaching towards Bilbo as he cried out, “Burglar!” But was engulfed in fire instantly. _And there was nothing Bilbo could do._ He snapped back to the present, muttering a single “Nope,” before fainting to the carpet.

“Oh, very helpful Bofur,” huffed a clearly irritated Gandalf.

********************************

“I’ll be alright, just let me sit quietly for a moment." Bilbo was awake now and in his favorite armchair by the fire, a mug of warm tea in his hands. Unfortunately for him, Gandalf was having none of his shit.

“You’ve been sitting quietly for far too long.” Bilbo looked affronted at the statement. _I did get back from Rivendell only a few weeks ago, thank you very much,_ though he understood what Gandalf was trying to get at.

“Tell me, when did doilies and your mother’s dishes become so important to you?” _When she died,_ he thought sardonically. “I remember a young hobbit who was always running off in search of elves in the woods. Who would stay out late, come home after dark, trailing mud and twigs and fireflies. A young hobbit who would have liked nothing better than to find out what was beyond the borders of the Shire.” Seeing Bilbo staring into the fire, his voice grew softer. “The world is not in your books and maps.” Bilbo turned his head sharply, finally meeting Gandalf’s gaze. “It’s out there,” he tilted his head at the window. Bilbo, though moved by his words, refused to show it.

“I am a Baggins of Bag-End. I cannot go running off into the blue!” Gandalf already had a reply waiting for that. “And you are also a Took!” Before the wizard could continue, Bilbo abruptly stood, spilling his tea when he placed it roughly on the side table, and faced his friend.

“I _cannot_ protect them, Gandalf! Sure, an adventure of this scale would be marvelous, but a dragon?” His voice grew loud on the final word, while his arms waved for emphasis. “What would, what _could_ , any of us do against a monster of that size? I understand that you expect me to sneak in there,” here he pointed at Gandalf accusingly, “but dragons can smell! He needn’t see me to know I’m there! And what’s to stop him from running out and murdering this company once it’s through with me? Nothing!” Bilbo paused for breath and covered his eyes, before dropping his hand and looking his friend square in the eye. “You have to understand Gandalf, it’s not that I don’t want to go, because I do. But how…” He shook his head. “I cannot watch them die while I stand helplessly to the side, knowing there is _nothing_ I can do. Not after…” here he trailed off, remembering white and wolves. His voice was somewhat lower when he continued, voice breaking briefly on the second word. “My mother was bad enough, Gandalf. How can you expect me to experience that type of loss again?”

Here a voice spoke up behind him, deep and reassuring as a hand landed on his shoulder, burning his skin through the clothes. Without turning, Bilbo knew who it was. His eyes fluttered shut, before reopening at the sound of a rumbling voice.

“Trust us to take care of ourselves, Mister Baggins.” The hand gently moved him around so he was facing none other than Thorin Oakenshield, who Gandalf had recently informed him was actually a king. _A king!_ Still, Bilbo cared naught for titles and places, only the people behind them, and acted as such. “While it is true most of us are tinkers and toymakers, they are still fighters.” A twinkle appeared in his eyes as he tilted his head, “And do not forget, there are still some true warriors amongst us.”

Bilbo was surprised by this intervention, but scoffed anyways, looking anywhere but Thorin for a few moments before finally meeting his eyes steadily. He cleared his throat.

“No disrespect, Master Oakenshield, but I am not sure that is enough. I understand you are fine at defending yourself, and the Company the same. However, I have seen…” He trailed off as a thick thumb brushed against his clothed collarbone, a touch so light Bilbo almost thought he imagined it. Here he made a split second decision, and decided to open himself to the dwarf. There was no rhyme or reason to it, only a small feeling he couldn’t shake.

“I have seen my mother ripped limb from limb, even as I slit and stabbed the throats and sides of wargs to reach her. I hacked a path, but it was too late. I will never forget that day during the Fell Winter, Master Oakenshield. The blood on the snow, turning half the Shire red…screams cutting through the cold air…” He shuddered. “Never.”

Thorin’s grip on his shoulder grew tighter and he nodded, understanding the hobbit’s perspective, while simultaneously shocked that the hobbit had faced wargs alone – and lived. “You belong to a peaceful race, Mister Baggins. However, all of us have lived on the road far longer than we wish to admit. We have had no home, no place, not since that _worm_ stole it from us. We are tough, and even the weakest amongst us can hold their own in a fight.” Here his hand slid to grip his bicep, squeezing once before letting go and leaning forward slightly. “It is your choice, but do not fear for us. We can handle ourselves.” He nodded to Bilbo before walking into the kitchen, only to be assaulted by an overexcited Kili who was babbling something about a lemon pie he just _had_ to try.

Bilbo stood there, his mind running through what just occurred. He turned to Gandalf. “You cannot promise I will return from this.” It was a statement, not a question, and Gandalf took it as such. It took the wizard a few moments to reply: clearly he was caught in thought about Thorin’s words, and how Bilbo responded. “No, and if you do, you will not be the same.” The hobbit nodded and walked away, outside to smoke his pipe in peace.

Surprisingly, the bench was already occupied by the tri-tipped-haired dwarf. _Nori, I believe?_ _Yes, that’s it. Nori._

For a good while they sat in silence, so long that the sunset changed into night, and the only noise being that of crickets and hoots of owls. Interrupting the silence, Nori asked Bilbo a question that had been on many dwarves’ minds since they arrived.

“So, Mister Bilbo, is it common for hobbits to wear ear jewelry?”

Bilbo chuckled quietly, slightly surprised. In all of the chaos of the night, he had completely forgotten about the cuff around his ear. He fingered it for a moment, before dropping his hand.

“No, Master Nori, it is not. However, if you ask any hobbits around here of my character, they would be quick to tell you that I am a bit mad.” He smiled a bittersweet smile.

Nori stared at the hobbit for a moment, brow furrowed, uncomprehending. “What do you mean by that?” Bilbo took another drag from his pipe, the cherry briefly lighting his face. He blew three smoke rings before replying.

“Mad. As in, crazy. I’m not nearly as respectable as my father was, though he lost a good bit of that marrying my mother. She was an adventurer, you see. Even went on her own journey with Gandalf once, a long time ago.” He decided to leave out the part about elves, since it was no secret the races disliked each other. “Hobbits simply do not do those things. Adventures, embellished jewelry…these are subjects that most hobbits deem ‘unrespectable.’ For all their peacefulness, there is quite the strict moral code. I suppose you could describe it best as…prim and proper.” Bilbo went back to puffing on his pipe while Nori sat, lost in thought. Suddenly the door to Bag-End swung open and Ori was at the door, politely asking them both to come in.

“Strange,” Nori said, finally finding his voice as they followed the stone path to the door. “Dwarves are fond of jewelry, the more intricate the better.” Before Bilbo could think of a reply, they were through the door and into the sitting room where all the dwarves sat in varying places.

Thorin stood by the fireplace, a golden harp settled on the table in front of him. Firelight played off the shining surface, making the gold even brighter and more beautiful than before. He noted Fili and Kili perched on the ends of the sofa, each with a wooden flute. He did not get a chance to check the others’ instruments before Thorin nodded, a signal, and they began to play.

It was a slow tune, and Bilbo sat by the window, curiously observing the company as he felt the music wash over him.

Thorin’s hair fell in a wave on both sides of his harp, hiding the first few strings. His eyes, much like those of the rest of the company, were glazed over, far away in a land to the east. His face was mostly shadowed, though light peeked through the strands of hair, allowing firelight to play across his face. The _only_ light in the room was from the fireplace. Darkness filled the rest of the space, though each dwarf’s eyes were glinting. Their eyes were the only thing Bilbo could make out of some who stood in the doorways, and those in the corners of the room.

After about thirty seconds of solo music, Thorin (to Bilbo’s great surprise) began to sing.

 _“Far over the misty mountains cold,_  
_To dungeons deep and caverns old._  
_We must away ‘ere break of day,_  
_To seek the pale enchanted gold.”_

His voice grew stronger, and a few of those without wind instruments joined in.

 _“The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,_  
_While hammers fell like ringing bells,_  
_In places deep, where dark things sleep,_  
_In hollow halls beneath the fells.”_  
  
Bilbo wondered and suddenly realized that, _Dwarves have magic! At least rune magic, if this song is anything to go by. Incredible._

 _“For ancient king and elvish lord,_  
_There many a gleaming golden hoard,_  
_They shaped and wrought and light they caught,_  
_To hide in gems on hilt of sword._

 _On silver necklaces they strung,_  
_The flowering stars, on crowns they hung,_  
_The dragon-fire, in twisted wire,_  
_They meshed the light of moon and sun.”_

Their song continued like this, and Bilbo felt the music wash over him. All the others who did not play wind instruments had joined in, adding their voices to their king’s. It was a deep sound that vibrated through Bilbo’s very soul, highlighted by their instruments. It swept him off to another land, and he became more himself than he had ever been before.

 _“Far over the misty mountains cold,_  
_To dungeons deep and caverns old,_  
_We must away, ‘ere break of day,_  
_To claim our long-forgotten gold._

_Goblets they carved there for themselves,_  
_And harps of gold; where no man delves,_  
_There lay they long, and many a song,_  
_Was sung unheard by men and elves.”_

A slight feeling of sadness washed through Bilbo at the thought of no others hearing such beautiful music, and as such, he felt honored that they were willing to share this with him.  


_The pines were roaring on the height,_  
_The winds were moaning in the night._  
_The fire was red, it flaming spread,_  
_The trees like torches blazed with light._

 _The bells were ringing in the dale,_  
_And men looked up with faces pale;_  
_The dragon’s ire more fierce than fire,_  
_Laid low their towers and houses frail._ ”

Bilbo did not, or rather _could not_ , think anything in particular. His mind was visualizing the song, his heart lost amongst the deep baritone and bass notes.

 _“The mountain smoked beneath the moon;_  
_The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom._  
_They fled their hall to dying fall,_  
_Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.”_

Here, Thorin sang alone again.

 _Far over the misty mountains grim,_  
_To dungeons deep and caverns dim,_  
_We must away, ‘ere break of day,_  
_To win our harps and gold from him!”_

Shaking as the song came to its end, Bilbo was brought back into the present. He touched his face and was surprised to see tears, for he could not remember beginning to cry. Wiping his face, he met the haunted eyes of Thorin. They were almost black since he was facing away from the fire. Bilbo would never know how the king felt, having been brought back to reality to see the hobbit so moved by one of the most coveted songs of his people.

Moonlight danced across Bilbo’s hair from the open window, a full moon. Cheeks glinting in the firelight from smeared tears, steel blue eyes soft and alight with a tragic passion; a passion that was mirrored in Thorin’s own eyes. It was in that moment something shifted in the king, something he had never given thought to before.

The moment was broken when Dwalin stood and walked by Thorin, heading to his rooms. All those in the company had a bed except Kili, Fili, and Ori, who were staying in the living room since they were the youngest, and Bilbo only had so many beds.

Bilbo stood as Thorin began wrapping his harp, walking around furniture to approach the king. However, he only had eyes for the parchment sitting on the side table. Taking a quill and dipping it in the bottle of ink he had there (for one never knew when they would need to take note of something), he signed his name below that of Thorin and Balin. He briefly met the eyes of the king which were filled with an indescribable emotion, nodded once, and walked to his own room.

Laying down, Bilbo could not help but reply the song in his mind. A few minutes later he heard the door beside his close, and a deep humming coming from Thorin through the wall. He fell asleep to the sound in his ears, and slept a deep, dreamless sleep of pure rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your lovely reviews and kudos! I appreciate it very much, and it pushed me to write this as soon as possible. The next chapter should be up within a few days.


	3. Departure and Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lovely breakfast followed by a not-so lovely departure, and their first night at camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH everyone who has commented and left kudos! I'm super sorry that this was a little later than expected, however I ended up going on my own unexpected adventure this past weekend (family) and couldn't write while I was there. If you have any ideas on where you would like to see this story go, let me know.  
> Beta'd by the lovely ArielT, who has helped me a ton with brainstorming.

Bilbo woke to the sound of clinking plates and a delicious smell. He rolled over, snuggling into his pillow and clutching it tightly. His eyes flashed open, recalling the night from before and his current company. _Oh my!_ he worried as he quickly jumped up and began shedding his clothes. He then put on clean ones without care to how wrinkled they were. _I am such a horrible host! My guests are making breakfast for themselves, for crying out loud!_

 Finally dressed in a yellow vest and his favorite red waistcoat, he bolted out of the door—and right into Fili, who was balancing a tray of tea, biscuits, and eggs with one hand, the other raised to knock. They both tumbled to the floor with a yell, and food flew through the air to scatter across the hallway.

  _Half a mile away, Thorin’s vision whited out for a moment before he was sprinting for Bag-End, Dwalin hot on his heels._

 "I’m so sorry!” Bilbo and Fili exclaimed at the same time. Bilbo was horrified to hear booming laughter, and he turned his head to the sound. The entire company, minus Dwalin and Thorin, stood in and around the end of the hallway.

He blushed crimson and looked back at Fili, who had recovered with grace and decided to tease their burglar, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Do you like being on top, Mister Baggins?” he asked with a laugh. Bilbo slapped his arm in admonishment, somehow turning an even darker shade of red as he rolled off the prince.

“I am so sorry!” he exclaimed again as he stood, pulling at his hair. “Not only have I neglected my duties as a host, but I ruined the perfectly good breakfast you brought me.” He let his hair go, shaking his head. “Though I think your statement may make us even for the second.”

At that moment Thorin burst into Bag-End, Dwalin close behind and out of breath. Thorin strode forward quickly (Dwalin doubled over and panting in the doorway) and stopped five or so feet in front of the burglar and prince. Bilbo’s breath caught at the king in such a hurried state, a light sheen of sweat on his face. Remembering the situation, he thoroughly wished he could melt into the wall. _The fact I’m still solid is quite surprising._ He glanced at the tea wistfully. _If only I could join the tea…._

“What happened here?” snapped Thorin, looking between Bilbo and Fili, the latter still on his back upon the wooden floor.

“Well you see uncle, I was bringing Mister Bilbo here a perfectly good breakfast, and he decided to assault me instead.” He laughed, clearly jesting, before jumping to his feet and winking at Bilbo which sent half the Company into another uproar of laughter. The older, less trusting dwarves (excluding Balin) had already disappeared around the corner. “It appears he likes to be on top.”

Nori fell off his chair from laughter at that, and Bofur quickly joined him when he saw the look on Thorin’s face. _“Excuse me?”_ the king demanded. Confusion marred with a touch of jealousy and heat covered the king’s face, and Bilbo thought, _Forget the dragon. I’m going to die right here, right now. Death from embarrassment and the blown pupils of a dwarven king._ He mentally shook himself.

“I ran out the door right before he could knock,” explained Bilbo. He pulled himself together somewhat, pulling down the edges of his vest and facing Thorin. “I must apologize. I have neglected my duties as a host and—“ He was cut off by a flour-covered Kili who had finally reached his brother and slung an arm around him. A poof of white accompanied the movement, and it was a wonder Thorin’s eyebrows didn’t reach his hairline—though it was a close thing.

“Don’t listen to him, uncle!” the young prince cut in with a cheery tone. “He was tired, and we let him sleep in, thinking we could return his generosity.”

Bofur managed to find his seat, gasping for air. “Except the burglar had another type payment in mind, eh Bilbo?”

Laughter rang out again, and Thorin stared at Bilbo. _This is it. I’m dead. Gone. Ashes to the wind and the blasted dragon isn’t even necessary._ Then the king did something he did not expect; he cracked a smile. _Oh, what a smile._ He walked towards the burglar and clapped a hand on his shoulder, joining in the mirth shared by his fellows. “I’m sure he’s quite a sight,” he said loudly, and the laughter grew impossibly louder. Bofur lost his seat again.

A soothing brush moved across the back of Bilbo’s neck and he calmed, realizing that no one was upset with him. Relieved, Bilbo saw his chance and took it; his true Took nature rising to the surface. He winked at Thorin.

“Maybe one day you’ll be lucky enough to find out.”

Even Balin clutched his sides at that, and Dwalin’s deep chuckle (which occurred right as he finally caught his breath and reached his brother) went unheard by none. Thorin was momentarily stunned, not having expected a joke at his own expense. A gentle wave of air passed over his cheek and he grinned, knowing it was in good fun. “It appears our burglar has found his spine again.” Reluctantly he turned away from Bilbo and dropped his arm, facing the rolling Company. “What’s for breakfast? I’m starving.”

Dori was quick to appear.

“We’ve got sausages, eggs, ham, biscuits, tea….” The matronly dwarf continued to list foods as Thorin passed between the dwarves, headed for the kitchen.

Kili and Fili each put an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and guided him into the dining room, teasing all the way, where a mostly eaten breakfast feast was laid out. He thanked them, and Kili reassured him everything would be clean by the time he finished. “I made the mess.” Kili shrugged. “I should be the one to clean it.”

“So Mister Bilbo, where did you get your ear jewelry?” asked Fili once Bilbo had finished eating.

Before he could reply, he felt someone touch his ear. He recoiled so fast he would have fallen had a fast hand not grabbed him.

“Whoa, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” said Fili, sitting down beside him. The blond dwarf put his hands up in a gesture of surrender when he saw the look he was being given. “What?”

Bilbo gasped and stuttered, “W-w-what? What do you mean, what? You t-touched my e-ear!” He pointed accusingly.

Fili tilted his head and looked at him from the side. Bilbo realized everyone at the table—Fili, Thorin, Nori, and Dwalin—were looking at him with confusion. “What is so upsetting about that?” asked Thorin slowly, looking at the hobbit as though he had suddenly grown an extra head.

Bilbo was astounded. “What is – what is _upsetting_ about it? What isn’t?!” He argued, becoming angry.

Nori spoke. “Bilbo, you’re gonna have to tell us what’s going on. Is it a hobbit thing?”

Understanding dawned on Bilbo and he cleared his throat, touching his ear as if to erase the feeling of Fili’s touch. “Ah, yes. Our ears are extremely sensitive and as such, only close family and our…” He flicked his eyes to Thorin’s and licked his lips nervously, “…lovers are allowed to touch them.” A soft flutter caressed Bilbo’s abdomen and he bit his lip. _What on earth has gotten into me?_ He looked from Thorin to a now scandalized Fili. “And please, call me Bilbo. No titles necessary.”

Fili almost fell over himself apologizing, and insisted on helping his brother clean the kitchen as retribution. Before Bilbo could get a single word in, the prince was around the corner and out of earshot. Bilbo cleared his throat, looking around at the remaining dwarves. Dwalin and Nori had gone back to eating, but Thorin was still looking at him. “Is there something you’d like to ask, Master Thorin?”

The dwarf in question worked his mouth briefly before replying. “Yes. I was wondering if you were going to answer my nephew’s question.”

Bilbo smiled sadly but obliged. “My mother, Belladonna, was an adventurer. She loved different aspects of all the races, though dwarven jewelry was her one of her favorites. I had always complimented her on it, so she knew I enjoyed it as well.” Something flickered through Thorin’s eyes but was too fast for Bilbo to catch. “When I came of age, she presented me with this. She had traveled a good distance to get it, going all the way to Ered Luin for a special order.” He fingered the delicate design, four entwined vines surrounding flowing petals, a garnet in the center of them. “Vines and flowers are not common designs for dwarves, are they?”

Dwalin snorted, drawing both sets of blue eyes. “No laddie, they are not.” He glanced at his king and finished his soup, dragging Nori off with him, a raised eyebrow being all he needed to get the thief to follow without hesitation. Thorin and Bilbo were left alone and the duo quickly forgot about their comrades.

Thorin gazed at his softly pointed ear. _So different from the points of elves,_ thought the king. He shifted uncomfortably, the adornment looking entirely too good with the hobbit’s blond curls and steel blue eyes.

Bilbo noticed his gaze and blushed lightly. “Would you like to see it?” Thorin seemed surprised at his offer but nodded. Bilbo reached up and softly unhooked the yielding metal. He stood and took the seat beside of Thorin, leaving his empty plate. A soft hand brushed a calloused one as the cuff traded hands, and a warmth bloomed from the skin contact.

Thorin held the cuff at varying degrees and checked the workmanship. “Not bad,” he murmured. Once he was done examining it he handed it back to Bilbo, feeling that lovely warmth once again. “I could have done better,” he said with a cheeky grin.

 

*********************

Three hours later, the Company left Bag-End. As though a switch had been flipped the moment they touched the road, each dwarf became stone-faced, moving quickly. Bilbo was in the back with Ori, who he struck up a conversation with. “So, have you been on an adventure like this before?”

Ori looked surprised to see Bilbo talking to him, and glanced around to make sure no other hobbits were within earshot. “No, this is my first. I only came of age five or so years ago,” he said quietly and with pride. “I prefer my books to the road but when I heard Thorin was looking for volunteers to retake Erebor, I just _knew_ I had to join. Every king should always have a scribe, you know?” He smiled quickly, as if he were afraid of being caught with the expression.

Bilbo nodded and noted the change, but said nothing. As they passed a group of hobbits the Company was silent. A dual cry of “Bilbo!” came from two young fauntlings who ran forward toward the dwarves. Their mother frantically tried to stop them with fear on her face, but the twins simply ducked her arms and continued running.

Bilbo knelt down just in time, arms wide, and they ran into his hug. He smiled broadly as he held the girls, before they backed out and began chattering in tandem.

“Mister Bilbo where are you going?”

“On an adventure?”

“Are you going to see the elves again?”

“You just got back last week!”

Bilbo laughed at their excitement, not noticing the odd look the dwarves gave each other. “I’m off on a really big adventure this time,” Bilbo said seriously, still smiling and holding one of each the girls’ hands.

“Where?”

“Why are you with dwarves?”

“Momma said they were mean!”

“Are they making you go with them?”

Bilbo rocked back on his heels, meeting the eyes of their mother who looked as though she would bolt at any moment. He frowned and gave her a sharp look, before softening it for the children in front of him. “No ladies, I’m going because I want to. And don’t ever believe that dwarves are mean.” He tweaked their noses, gaining giggles. “They’ve been far nicer than most of the folks here,” he whispered conspiratorially. They giggled again and looked up at the immobile dwarves.

“They’re so big and scary though!”

Bilbo laughed, shaking his head. “Are the rangers mean? No! And they’re far taller than dwarves.”

The twins pondered this for a moment before looking at each other and nodded simultaneously, coming to an agreement. They walked forward to Bofur, who smiled at the approaching hobbits. “Up!” The blue-ribbon one demanded. Bofur laughed and picked her up, throwing her into the air once before settling her back down and slinging his pack around so he could get something. He pulled out a beautifully carved bird and handed it to her, then another that went to her twin.

“How dare you!” yelled a male hobbit who came around the corner. Bofur furrowed his brow and the other dwarves quickly placed their hands on their weapons, ready for a fight.

“For giving them toys?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Emboldened by the man’s appearance, the mother quickly ran forward and grabbed her children who fought against her. “But Mommy they’re nice!” they cried. Bilbo walked forward in front of Bofur, cutting off the rotund hobbit on a warpath.

“I don’t know what you think you’ve seen,” he said calmly, “But you need to calm down. He gave them toys, nothing more and nothing less.”

The hobbit, a certain Sackville-Baggins Bilbo noted with despair, sneered. “Right. As if there’s nothing sinister about the ‘toy’!”

Most of the Company jerked at the idea and Balin stepped forward, arms out in an ‘I’m not armed’ stance. “Sir, there seems to be a misunderstanding. If there is anything dwarves love, it is children, as we have so few ourselves. They are to be protected at all costs. What you have implied is a grievous insult upon our honor.”

“Fuck your honor,” he sneered. “As if you homeless folk have any to begin with.” Thorin began to move but Bilbo was faster, already firing back a retort.

“How dare you, Robyn Sackville-Baggins! You are disgracing your name, your family’s name, and even our race with your horrid words. Though truly,” He hissed, “I shouldn’t expect any better from a cheating coward like yourself.” He pointed at the dwarves. “They have far more honor than your sorry self ever had. You don’t even know the meaning of the word!”

He blinked at Bilbo, briefly shocked by the public revelation. A dark look crossed his face before he stood and spoke loudly enough for all around to hear. He pointed at Bilbo for effect.

“You see? Mad Baggins has finally cracked! Look at the jewelry he wears! No doubt traded a romp in the sheets for a fine trinket. No wonder your father faded before his time. You were too much a disappointment to keep him alive!”

Bilbo stepped forward, and fear ran across the man’s face. He had every intention of making him feel the hurt his words had caused when Bofur’s hand grabbed his arm.

“It’s not worth it, Bilbo. Let’s just go.” A white-hot feeling filled Bilbo’s chest, stopping him even without the miner’s words.

Thorin had made his way from the front of the Company and picked up the Sackville-Baggins by his shirt. “You miserable rat,” he spat. “It is not from us and was his coming of age gift. Nor have any of us besmirched his honor, and how dare you accuse us of such!” He physically threw the rude hobbit down the hill, yelling something that sounded like an insult angrily in Khuzdhul, before turning to the Company. “Move.” His voice was low and dark, clearly angry.

The two girls called out, wrapped in their mother’s arms and crying. “Goodbye Mister Bilbo!”

“We’ll miss you!”

Then together, “Thank you for the toys Mister dwarf!”

Bofur tipped his hat and Bilbo smiled weakly and waved. Bofur put an arm around his shoulders and steered him away, squeezing his arm in comfort before dropping it. Bilbo dropped back to walk beside Ori again. They carried on in silence, reaching the stables after an hour or so. They packed the ponies, Bilbo having his own named Myrtle, before setting off again. None spoke until nightfall.

**************************

As they made camp, Bilbo spread out his bedroll as far away from the fire as he could get while still being in the same area. It bothered him deeply that one of his race would act in such a despicable way, and yet…. _A despicable heart calls for despicable actions, I suppose._

Bombur came over to Bilbo just as he finished. The large dwarf appeared nervous as the hobbit met his eyes.

“How can I help you, Bombur?”

“I was wondering if you would be willing to join me in cooking nightly? You don’t have to, of course, but it would really help me out.” He paused for a moment before smiling shyly. “Also, I was wondering if you could help me with a few recipes? Your beef stew was absolutely lovely.”

Bilbo smiled, happy to be included in the nightly jobs of his companions. “Gladly!”

Thirty minutes later, he had talked off both of Bombur’s ears and the ginger dwarf was positively beaming.

“Thank you so much Master Baggins! This is invaluable information.”

Bilbo laughed, “Not a problem, Bombur. If there’s anything hobbits pride themselves on, it’s food!”

“So, Bilbo, to change the subject” began Bofur from beside the hobbit, “Why on earth would you go see the elves? Or were the children joking?”

 _Here it comes,_ thought Bilbo. “Well, ahem, you see…” he trailed off, realizing the entire Company was awaiting his response. _Just get it out, Bilbo._ “It all goes back to my mother. She was a Took, and a very adventurous sort. Well, she went on her own adventure with Gandalf once, long before she even met my father. She was injured on the way back, and so Gandalf took her to Rivendell for healing.” He paused for breath, taking a sip out of his water skin before continuing. He addressed Bofur, but was well aware of his audience.

“Lord Elrond was kind enough to heal her himself, as her wounds were quite bad. Had he not helped, it’s unlikely I would be here today. Even with his help, it still took months for her to recover fully. While she was there, she became friends with a few elves, who asked her to return sometime so they may get to know each other better.”

Mutterings accompanied his words but he pressed on. “She visited every year during the summer months without fail, and when I was born, she continued. Of course, people called her crazy for taking a toddler to see elves, saying it would corrupt my sense of home; however, she was a Took, and far above caring what others thought.” He smiled fondly, remembering his mother’s bright gold hair and cheery attitude. “So, I grew up spending my summers there. I became friends with Elladan and Elrohir, Elrond’s twin sons. They taught me Sindarin, much to my mother’s delight.”

Here he grinned, clearly proud of himself. “I actually broke a record amongst non-elves, perfecting the written and spoken forms by my twentieth winter. So I suppose I could double as a translator for you, if you ever worry about what they may be saying.”

His long confession was met with open mouths and wider eyes. Ori was the first to speak, so excited that he forgot his race was supposed to hate the elves Bilbo spoke so fondly of. “Can you speak some for us?”

Dori cuffed the back of his head in reproach, glancing towards Thorin (who brooded near the fire) with worry.

“Of course!” Bilbo smiled, glad to show off one of his skills, and entirely missing the glance towards Thorin that Dori made. Even if he was no mighty warrior, negotiations were always important. “Mellon,” he said simply, extending a hand towards Ori. “It means, ‘friend.’”

“That’s enough,” Thorin growled. “You do not need to be filling our youth’s heads with tales and words of tree-shaggers.”

Bilbo looked affronted and stood up, facing the king.

“Excuse me? Those ‘tree-shaggers,’ as you so ineloquently called them, have been far kinder to me than most of my own race. They have taught me many invaluable lessons.”

Thorin’s reaction was instant. “Oh really?” He sneered, moving towards the hobbit. “And what did they teach you? How to be an oath breaker?”

Bilbo bristled at the accusation. “I do not know who you are calling oath breakers, but the elves of Rivendell have done, and will do, no such thing!” He puffed himself up, refusing to wilt under the glare that could probably melt glass. Thorin let out a short bark of laughter, but there was no happiness in it.

“Where were the elves when our homes were being burned? Where were the elves when my kin were slaughtered, our home plundered, leaving me and my people homeless for years?! Doing nothing but watching!” His eyes glowed frosty in the light.

Bilbo lurched forward for a second, feeling a deep pain in his chest and the sudden need to comfort the dwarf in front of him _. There was so much pain hidden behind those words._ When Bilbo replied, his voice was quiet. His face showed that he was confused, but that he understood he had hit a delicate area. He put up his hands in surrender.

“I am sorry that such misery has befallen your people. I understand now that some alliance was broken; however, the Rivendell elves are not the elves of the Greenwood. They are entirely separate people; even down to the basics of what they are.” He lowered his arms, though still Thorin’s glare did not lessen. He continued in a normal voice, speaking to the company as much as their king. “You see, most of them are not even full blooded elves, but half elves. Their other half is the blood of mortal men. Such children are given the choice of immortality by the Valar. In fact, some elves mock the Rivendell elves for their blood. They say that they are not true elves at all, and spit on their wisdom for that reason alone.” Small murmurs from the company met his words and he bit his lip, afraid that he had said too much.

Clearly, Thorin had not been expecting such news. He crossed his arms before gritting out, “They’re still elves,” before walking off into the night, calling out over his shoulder that he would take first watch.

As soon as he was out of earshot, the company resumed quiet chatter. Bilbo made his way back over to Ori. The red-head looked up as he sat down, a troubled look on his face. “I am sorry, Mister Bilbo. I did not mean to anger Thorin towards you.”

“None of the blame lays on you, Ori. And for the last time, it’s just Bilbo! Anyway, I understand his reasons. I might hate certain elves as well, if what he said was anything to go by.”

“Oh aye,” said Balin. He was beside Ori, but more than four feet lay between them. “Thorin has more cause than most to hate elves…” He trailed off before standing, and gesturing to the dark outline that was Thorin. The crownless king stood at the top of the hill, keeping watch by himself.

“As the dragon took the Lonely Mountain, Thorin ran out with those of our kin who were lucky enough to escape. And there, upon the hill overlooking Dale and Erebor, stood King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm. He stood there and _watched_ our home burn, while legions of elvish warriors stood at his back. As Thorin watched, the elf king turned and walked away, taking his army with him. No help came from the elves that day, nor any day since. So you must understand, it is quite a touchy subject for our leader.”

Bilbo sat, absolutely flabbergasted. “And he… he didn’t help? How could he not! Surely there was some sort of treaty with his kingdom and Erebor?”

Balin nodded solemnly. “Ah, yes. I saw to that one myself. They were to aid us against anything that may attack, as part of our alliance. However, they turned their backs on us. Ever since, Thorin has deeply hated them all.”

Bilbo frowned but understood Thorin’s position. He didn’t quite understand why he hated all of them and not just elves of the Greenwood, but that pain in his chest had been proof enough of the dwarf’s feelings. He had lost everything because an elf refused to help, and none dared defy their lord in order to help mortal dwarves. Bilbo nodded to himself and stood up.

“Thank you, Balin. I appreciate the backstory. Unfortunately, not much news reaches us by way of the Shire. Not that most of them care,” he said with a wry grin that was tempered by the mood of the conversation, “But alas, I long for news of other lands. This would have been very good to know before I went spouting off about my friends.”

“Sorry, laddie. This is not something we speak of often, or lightly. And as we just met….” He frowned. Bilbo nodded, but his mind was already elsewhere.

“I will be right back.” He headed to Thorin, ignoring the other dwarves who said his name. After a minute or two of walking, he stood beside the king. Thorin’s raven hair blew gently in the wind, braid clasps shining like twin moons in the moonlight. Bilbo began to speak, cautious but honest.

“I am sorry. I did not know of your past, and had I known, I would not have spoken of my friends so freely.” He paused as a trickle of surprise ran down his spine as if it were water. _Odd. The surprise is the only thing I am surprised about._ He shook his head to clear it, and missed the look Thorin sent him. “I just hope that you can come to see that, not everyone is terrible because of their race. Why, if you judged based on that horrid display by Robyn, you would surely have cast me out on the spot!” Once again that trickle ran down his spine and he shivered before noticing that Thorin was now looking at him.

The hobbit’s hair was almost white, washed out in the light of the moon. Bright moon-silvered eyes watched him patiently and waited for his response.

After a few moments he got it, Thorin’s voice low but firm. “You must understand that I will never care for them. They cost us—me—everything with their inaction. I will not speak of it anymore, but know that. Remember it the next time you think of speaking about them near me, lest I lose my manners entirely.” There were other things the dwarf could have said, many nasty things on the tip of his tongue; but something held him back. The hobbit in front of him was an outcast among his own people. He had defended Thorin and his company against his kin, and had expressed worry about losing any of those men on the road. Therefore, he was owed a reprieve. Yet, he never could have expected the hobbit to laugh quietly at his words.

“Manners? Manners indeed!” Bilbo smiled and tipped his head back to look at the sky, then brought his eyes back to Thorin. “Perhaps I shall educate you on them properly sometime, Your Highness.” Bilbo shook his head, but a smile was on his lips.

Thorin gave a tiny grin—no more than a slight lift of the corner of his lips—that was too dark to see in the light. “Perhaps you will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time around, we will see Bofur become the real MVP with Halfling Leaf for everyone.


	4. Leaf and Gems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the song they sing later, but they do a slightly different version since they're lacking the proper instruments. Lots of substitution. And Thorin's voice is a bit deeper than his. 10/10 would recommend listening to the song while reading the singing part, it's what inspired me to title this story. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wE6gEbp9vvE)  
> Beta'd by the wonderful ArielT!

It was on the third night of traveling, the night before they were to reach Bree, that Bofur revealed his secret.

The miner pulled out a pouch and tossed it over to Nori, who opened the drawstring of the bag and immediately jerked back,  laughing. “You got the strong stuff, eh?”

Bofur grinned and winked, looking around the company. “Aye! That’s some potent Longbottom Leaf there, lads. Who all wants a bit?”

He walked over to Nori and took back his pouch before sitting in his spot beside Bombur. Everyone was gathered around the fire, bellies full of warm soup. He began to pack his pipe, sticking his tongue out at his comrades who called for him to hurry up.

Gandalf took the moment to excuse himself, muttering about “Rowdy dwarves, the whole lot of them,” and “You’d think they would have gotten it out of their system the past two nights when I was gone.” Louder, he announced to the company that he was going to keep watch, and shuffled away still muttering.

“Longbottom Leaf?” Bilbo piped up, a bright grin on his face. “I wasn’t aware that dwarves enjoyed such things.”

Dwalin huffed, rolling his eyes as he did so. “Laddie, we’re only quiet around strangers. Get us together and away from outsiders and—oof!” he cut off as Nori landed in his lap.

Bilbo’s grin became even brighter as he realized that, somehow, the dwarves had stopped seeing him as an outsider. He wasn’t sure when the shift happened or why, but he figured it had something to do with his size and how well he had gotten along with everyone else so far. He fit like a cog in their perfectly oiled machine, and even he wasn’t blind enough to miss that.

Bofur took that moment to pass the pouch around, and most of the dwarves had packed their pipes when it got to Fili and Kili.

“Ah, we don’t have our own pipes unfortunately. You know how mother was.” Fili shrugged and looked down.

Thorin rolled his eyes and stood, handing his own over to the brothers across the fire. “Here.” He settled back down. He had somehow ended up with their burglar on his left and Dwalin on his right.

“Would you like to share my pipe?”

Thorin started from Bilbo’s voice. He stared at the halfling, all blue eyes and brooding expression. He eyed the thin, long pipe with apprehension.

“Why?”

Bilbo chortled. “Manners, my dear king. Lesson one.”

Thorin _nearly_ cracked a smile, but only raised a dark eyebrow in response, knees bent and one arm over the right. “Manners, you say?”

Bilbo, mirroring his position but with his left arm over left leg, grinned and shifted his gaze from Thorin’s eyes to his pipe and lit the end. He puffed a few times before pulling it away and handing it over to Thorin. The dwarf had only just begun to pull (using his left hand) when Bilbo let out the smoke through his mouth and nose and coughed hard. Thorin resisted the urge to pat him on the back and continued pulling.

Soon the air was full of smoke and laughter from dwarves and a hobbit.

Bilbo’s eyes were drawn to Nori and Dwalin, who were on the other side of Thorin—much to the king’s dismay. Nori had taken up residence in Dwalin’s lap earlier, but at this point in time he had turned around to straddle the larger dwarf. They were kissing fiercely, and the occasional moan reached his ears. Thorin was staring into the fire, a faraway—though not unpleasant—look on his face, clearly blocking out the spectacle at his side.

Bilbo asked quietly to the air, “So…they’re together? I wasn’t aware.”

Thorin didn’t react, but Gloin snorted. “Oh aye. They don’t talk much outside when they can speak privately inside.” He winked and tapped his head. Bilbo tilted his head to the side, glazed eyes confused.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand. I thought bonds only went as far as… emotions and knowing your partner’s location? At least that’s how it’s always been with hobbits, if a bond forms at all.” He almost slipped and mentioned that elves were very secretive about their own, but he caught himself before the words could slip out. _I’d rather have a nice, unprejudiced night than one spoiled by the thought of pointy ears and broken alliances._

Here Ori, always full of boundless knowledge, popped into the conversation, abandoning his previous one with Dori on which teas were best for treating stomach-sickness.

“Oh yes! Dwarves—“ He looked at Thorin, afraid he might object, but the dwarf had been pulled back into reality when bonds were mentioned and simply waved a hand for him to go on. “We bind completely. Mind and soul. That’s why, for us at least, they’re soul bonds. Well, with soul being the only word in Westron that translates fully. We have a different term.” He spoke a little faster near the end when he realized how interested Bilbo was, the halfling leaf making the hobbit’s concentration one hundred percent. “Words, emotions, images, feelings—if your partner feels it, you can too!”

Bilbo’s mouth fell open as he processed the information.

“Dwarvish magic!” he finally proclaimed, before promptly falling onto his back and gazing at the stars, eyes glazed over in thought. Thorin looked down at him briefly and raised a thick eyebrow before beginning a conversation with Bombur and Bofur (the brothers diagonal from him on the other side of Dwalin) while desperately trying to ignore Dwalin and Nori’s make-out session. They were debating whether sword or axe would be best for close-quarters cave fighting, and if there was a difference at all.

“Aye!” Gloin said wistfully. “And I miss my Gilis (Gil-EE-s) so much, laddie. You can’t _imagine_ how difficult it is to be without her after all these years…. I mean I can still feel her, but it’s not the same. I miss her in my arms at night.”

Groans accompanied his words as he carried on about his wife. “Her hair sparkles like rubies, descended from the Firebeards she is. That’s another clan of dwarves. And my lad, Gimli! He’s such a good lad. He’s gonna be sixty four this year, can you believe that! All the dwarrowdams are gonna be chasin’ him before too long…” He carried on, but Bilbo (and a large part of the company) had stopped listening. Bifur by his side, however, was agreeing wholeheartedly in Khuzdul and Iglishmek.

Bilbo, after a span of roughly three minutes, sat up and pawed at Thorin’s shoulder. The dwarf looked at him like he had grown another head, still in the same position from earlier, but Bilbo didn’t care.

“Pipe!” he demanded. Thorin shook his head and handed it to him, a wry grin on his face. Fili and Kili looked at the pair and then at each other. Bright, identical grins lit their faces.

Bombur and Bofur’s conversation moved on, the two of them quickly forgetting that Thorin was ever in it to begin with.

Bilbo took the pipe and pulled heavily, even though his mind was very, _very_ affected by the potent leaf already. He missed the way Thorin’s eyes were drawn to him with curiosity. The dark haired dwarf was unable to resist the pull of his eyes thanks to the relaxation of the leaf.

No one touched the solitary dwarf like that except his nephews. The most he got from anyone else was a pat on the back, inebriated or not.

Thorin put his hand out for the pipe, and Bilbo smiled happily as he passed it, still holding in the hit. Thorin took another drag and Bilbo’s selective focus was stuck on the dwarf’s eyes.

“Your eyes change,” Bilbo commented, his words spoken with smoke rolling out of his mouth and nose. Thorin coughed in surprise and grabbed his waterskin, taking a few deep gulps before turning back to the hobbit.

“Excuse me?”

Bilbo scooted over and pressed his chest into Thorin’s shoulder, legs laid to the side, and examined the eyes locked on his.

“Your eyes.” His voice was matter-of-fact but slightly slower, from leaf and awe _._ “At Bag End they were a deeper blue, but now they’re... your eyes are moonstone, you know.” His head tilted slightly. “They’re the ones where blue shines through liquid silver.”

Had Bilbo been sober, he would have been completely astounded by his analogy. Hobbits explain colors in flowers or seasons, but decidedly _not_ gems. He would have also punched himself for _describing a GEM to a DWARF._ Not to mention the sheer embarassment at how he was leaning into Thorin’s shoulder, as close to his eyes he could get to the other’s without smashing their faces together. But at the moment he couldn’t help it. Thorin’s eyes were silvery-blue pools and he was _swimming_. _And Hobbits don’t swim._

Thorin momentarily tore his eyes away to sweep the company, making sure that no one was looking at them, even if he couldn’t bring himself to care too much if they were. Sure that everyone else was well-occupied, his eyes met Bilbo’s again. He pondered their color, at least that which was visible around the dilated pupils. There was less than six inches between the dwarf and hobbit, and admittedly Thorin had not been so close to anyone else in years—and most definitely _never_ stared into someone’s eyes like this. Finally it hit him, and he spoke slowly as he relayed his thoughts.

“Yours… your eyes are blue dandelions, but shift to a lighter blue when met with light. The same way early morning dew makes flowers appear brighter around dawn.” His voice was dry, throatier than normal from the leaf. “Such flowers are rare, much like you are turning out to be.”

Bilbo blushed, a deep red in his cheeks that Thorin mirrored from his admission. Bilbo spoke quietly, their enraptured gaze unbroken.

"Do you know what you said? What those flowers mean?"

Thorin shook his head slightly, and leaned forward another fraction of an inch. "No." His voice was low, and reverberated through Bilbo where they touched.

Before the hobbit could reply, they jumped at Dori’s _very_ loud voice.

“That’s it! I will not have you copulating in front of the fire! Get a tree!” They looked over right as Nori winked at his brother and pulled a dazed Dwalin to his feet. The pair disappeared into the night with many a catcall following them.

“About time,” Thorin grumbled, barely sparing a glance in the pair’s direction.

“Well,” Bilbo commented airly, dropping his head to Thorin’s shoulder, “I hope Gandalf doesn’t stumble upon them. Yavanna knows we’d never hear the end of it.”

Fili and Kili laughed, having heard him over the momentarily quiet campfire. Bilbo pulled away from Thorin when he heard the boys, as if he was finally getting a grip on his surroundings. Thorin was simultaneously thankful and disappointed by that, his head a whirlwind of thoughts. _Mahal save me. Dandelions? How on all of Middle Earth do I know about those?_ _Proximity?_ _What? What did the flower mean?_

Bofur took that moment to waltz over and throw an arm around Bilbo, pulling him into his side. “You see Bilbo, about half of us are partnered off whether you know it or not. But sometimes a romp between unbound friends is healthy—” He cut off as a word growled in Khuzdul came from Thorin (something along the lines of “fuck off”) and lifted both his eyebrows in utter surprise. A grin curled the miner’s lips, much different from the smile moments ago. No one else was paying attention, too busy calling out encouragements to the now smoking Balin and Oin, as everyone wanted to see which of the veterans would be able to out smoke the other.

Bofur laughed at the looks on Thorin and Bilbo’s faces. “You should see your faces! I wasn’t serious, mates. Just having a laugh.”

Thorin immediately relaxed at Bofur’s explanation and retracted arm, but he didn’t apologize. Bilbo was laughing, shaking his head.

“All right. That’s good, you’re my friend after all and I would hate to hurt your feelings by turning you down.” The hobbit shivered as the cool feeling of water trickled down his spine.

Bofur looked at Thorin. “Want to show our hobbit some music? I’ve been itching to play all night.”

Thorin thought for a moment before nodding and reaching behind him, into his pack and pulling out his harp. Bofur scrambled for his fiddle as the king began plucking a slow tune, alternating between higher and lower notes. He looked at Bilbo.

“What would you like to hear?”

Bilbo brightened.

“Do you have any love songs? I’ve never heard of the dwarves’ softer sides, though I always wondered. Most races have devoted countless hours to them, though men tend to focus on the act of sex itself.” He scrunched up his nose, clearly unhappy with that fact. “Makes inns awkward , sometimes.”

Thorin smiled slightly, imagining a hobbit being subject to some of the lewd songs he had heard in the past.

“Aye, I know just the tune.”

His legs were crossed, the fire in front of him illuminating him brighter than the firelight had at Bag End the first time Bilbo had heard him sing. There was a faint smile playing on his lips as he touched a few strings, and said a few words to Bofur (who had finally returned to Bilbo’s side, since he took a minute to ask the others if they would like to join) in Khuzdul. Bilbo understood the words to be the name of the song.

“Can it be translated?” Thorin asked, wheels already spinning.

Bofur thought for a few moments before nodding, an absent smile on his face as he undoubtedly began the translation in his own head. “Aye, it can. On the spot translating isn’t really my thing though, so you might want to take lead voice.”

Thorin nodded and spoke to Bilbo, though he didn’t turn his head away from his harp.

“This is one of our more romantic songs. I will try to translate best I can.” He shook his head and the corner of his mouth turned up. “I’m afraid it’s not a very long one, but I do not believe our concentration will hold long in this state.”

“That’s fine,” Bilbo said breathlessly. He hadn’t actually been expecting Thorin to humor him, nor had he expected half the company to join. Bombur had his drum, Bofur on the fiddle, both Fili and Kili on their flutes, Oin with a different horn than he normally used for his ear, Balin with a banjo-looking instrument, and Ori with a set of cymbals in varying sizes.

Ori spoke. “This was written by a warrior after a battle where he found his One. They fought side by side all night, recognizing their other halves, and were bound between battles.” He also answered Bilbo’s unasked question. “They both lived through the war.”

Then, slow, trance-like music began to flow, starting with Thorin’s harp and accentuated by the other instruments. After a short instrumental interlude, Thorin began to sing. Bilbo immediately _felt_ the reverence his companion felt for this song. His voice was clearer than the last time he had sung.

 _“What if this storm ends?_  
_And I don’t see you_  
_As you are now_  
_Ever again?_

 _A perfect halo_  
_Of gold hair and lightning_  
_Sets you off against_  
_The planet’s last dance_

 _“Just for a minute,”_ Bombur’s drum picked up.  
_The silver forked sky_  
_Lit you up like a star_  
_That I will follow_

 _Now it’s found us_  
_Like I have found you_  
_I don’t want to run_  
_Just overwhelm me.”_

_[Musical interlude]_

Oin began to play his horn.  The music swelled, a feeling of rapture and battle, and Bilbo hoped that one day he would be able to hear it properly—in one of Erebor’s halls, made for acoustics, with a full band.

 _“What if this storm ends_  
_And leaves us nothing_  
_Except a memory_  
_A distant echo"_

Thorin's accent became thicker with the next stanzas, and Bilbo felt the fire the words invoked in him. It burned a spark into his own heart.

 _"I want pinned down_  
_I want unsettled_  
_Rattle cage after cage_  
_Until my blood boils_

 _I want to see you_  
_As you are now_  
_Every single day_  
_That I am living_

 _Painted in flames_  
_All peeling thunder_  
_Be the lightning in me_  
_That strikes relentless.”_

There was another musical solo here, and Bilbo could _see_ the battle, feel the rain, taste the blood in his mouth. Could smell the death, feel the adrenaline. _Dwarvish music is my favorite, and no one can tell me otherwise._ The spark in his chest caught, and a deep fire-like feeling filled him from his chest to his fingertips and he closed his eyes, afraid that if he kept them open he would appear to be glowing—that’s what it felt like, at least. The music dropped off suddenly after a climax, becoming much slower, and he opened his eyes as the adrenaline left him. The only one playing (and singing) was Thorin. A pang of longing that was not his own filled him, and he was suddenly met with moonstone irises, the whites of the eyes bloodshot like everyone else around.

 _“What if this storm ends?_  
_And I don’t see you_  
_As you are now_  
_Ever again?”_

Bilbo shuddered, cheeks reddening as a pull in his gut made him lean forward of his own volition.

 _“A perfect halo_  
_Of gold hair and lightning_  
_Sets you off against_  
_The planet’s last dance,”_

Bilbo sang the last two stanzas with him, cobalt on moonstone, both too enraptured in the moment to notice or care about the others around them.

 _“Just for a minute_  
_The silver forked sky_  
_Lit you up like a star_  
_That I will follow_

 _Now it’s found us_  
_Like I have found you_  
_I don’t want to run_  
_Just overwhelm me.”_

Thorin played the last notes on his harp. When it was done, Bilbo shook himself as the trance dropped and he was back to reality.

“That was absolutely incredible.”

It was Balin who replied, his voice quiet and thoughtful. “Aye laddie, it was. The music of dwarves is deep, though we may prefer drinking songs most of the time. Our hearts are forges, filled with the fires of the earth itself. And there is nothing we are so passionate about as our Ones, the other half of us created by Mahal himself.”

A strong wave of disappointment rolled through Bilbo, echoing in Thorin, who clenched his hands and closed his eyes. It was no secret that hobbits were made by Yavanna and not Mahal. Bilbo mourned the loss of such a love and bond, though he knew it was never his to wish for. Seeing the loss on his face and guessing it was due to Bilbo never fitting in with hobbits (and therefore never having love, and realizing that another dwarf could not be made for him), Bofur spoke quietly.

“It is rare and almost unheard of, but there have been cases where a dwarf’s One was not of the same race.” Bofur looked to Balin, silently conveying that he wanted the elder scholar to continue for him. Theology wasn’t his forte.

Balin sighed and looked to Ori. “You’re the expert on romance, little one. You tell him.”

Ori sat up a little straighter, a flushed, coy grin across his lips as he was deferred to by one of their brightest. The young, redheaded dwarf smiled kindly at Bilbo and began to speak.

“Sometimes Mahal makes one of us a little different inside, our souls calling out for something different than another forge. It is thought that he speaks with the other Valar, and they come to an agreement. The bonds are no different, and in some cases are even stronger than that of two dwarves.”

Bilbo looked up at him, wonder and hope in his eyes.

“Truly?”

Bofur clapped him on the back, smiling gently as Ori replied, “Truly.”

After that, the conversation around the fire moved quickly. Thorin tried to avoid looking at Bilbo and allowed his nephews to drag him over to their side of the fire, listening to them talk excitedly about what they were hoping to see on the road. Most of the others spoke of other great ballads that they missed hearing, ballads that required a great many people and far more instruments to accomplish. Dwalin and Nori eventually returned, falling into their combined bedrolls, and began snoring loudly.

Thorin and Bilbo didn’t speak again that night, though their eyes met occasionally through the flames.

As the hobbit fell asleep an hour or so later that night, he swore he could hear Thorin singing again through the snores of his companions, a quiet echo in his mind.

“ _What if this storm ends_  
_And I don’t see you_  
_As you are now_  
_Ever again?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin's eyes: https://mineralietystatic.s3.amazonaws.com/uploads/minerals/image/182/main_moonstone.jpg (pick one, they're all beautiful, and they really capture all the varying moods he has)  
> Bilbo's eyes: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/a8/94/d4/a894d4283185f855662be4ca8d2a007b.jpg, the flower in question http://cdn2.stylecraze.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/Dandelion1.jpg 
> 
> I love you guys! Next chapter will be Bree, and chapter after that we get our first taste of battle.  
> I would also like to point out that Thorin and Bilbo are not yet aware of the bond.


	5. Bree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bree! A lot of laughter and ale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is "The Man in the Moon Stayed Up Too Late"  
> Would definitely recommend listening to it on YouTube.

The next day passed without incident. Bilbo became better acquainted with Ori, their love of books bringing them together quickly. Since their cultures were very different (and therefore the stories known to both), they passed the time by trading fairytales of their peoples. Around midday Bofur heard what they were talking about and joined them, making the duo a trio. Bilbo was delighted to find out he was quite the storyteller. Gandalf and the princes would occasionally join them and toss in their own comments or alterations, but for the most part Ori, Bofur, and Bilbo were left to themselves. After a long day of travelling, the company finally reached Bree.

The Prancing Pony was full when the Company arrived, noise assaulting them as soon as they walked in. They followed Thorin to the barkeep, who immediately caught sight of the dwarves coming his way. The man leaned forward with his forearms on the counter.

“How can I help you?” He practically yelled over the din.

Thorin replied gruffly, “We need seven rooms.”

The man shook his head. “I’m sorry lads, we only have four rooms tonight.”

The dwarves turned to each other and began muttering about how many they could fit in one room.

“Ah,” Bilbo spoke up, clapping his hands together to get their attention, “There are four beds in each room.” At the odd look the dwarves gave him, he shrugged. “I come here on occasion with my cousins.”

Quickly the dwarves agreed to split according to family. Bilbo raised a finger to stop and ask where exactly he would be, but Thorin was already booking the rooms.

“We’ll take them!”

The man grinned, clearly delighted. “That’ll be twenty-eight silver pieces, two for each of your companions.”

Thorin stood stock still and narrowed his eyes, his surprise showing outwardly as a general glower. Twenty-eight silver pieces was quite a lot of money, seeing as their ponies had only cost them seven apiece – and since when did inns charge per person instead of per room? Slowly the king motioned for Gloin, who as a previous accountant, was in charge of everyone’s money. As the flame-haired dwarf walked over, Bilbo (who had been shocked into silence by the price) finally took action.

Elbowing his way to the front, he hopped up on a stood. “Rickon!” Bilbo said with a smile, interrupting Thorin and getting the barkeep’s attention.

“Good to see you Mister Baggins!” The barkeep replied with a surprised, crooked smile, moving towards the hobbit. Bilbo felt a flash of annoyance at how easily he ignored Thorin and Gloin, who were now literally counting out the silver to pay.

“Now you see, these dwarves are with me. I know for a fact you don’t normally charge that much for rooms…” He trailed off and raised an eyebrow, his polite smile now tainted with a hint of menace, and tapped his fingers against the wood bar.

The man shifted with an uneasy look on his face, knowing he had been busted. “Ah, yes. Well, that is true, Mister Baggins. I suppose I can take eighteen silver pieces for all the rooms…”

Bilbo interrupted him, “Twelve.” When the man opened his mouth to argue, Bilbo put up a hand and his polite smile completely dropped, leaving him with only a glare. “I know for a fact you only charge three per room per night, Rickon. And unless you want me explaining to every Took in the Shire that your business is suffering from a _terrible_ infestation of racism against small folk, _that_ is what you will charge us.” He waved his finger back and forth. “No more.”

The man gaped, clearly shocked at the hobbit’s words. As a general rule, hobbits were always polite and easy-going, and many tall folk had come to the conclusion that they were simply a soft race. Bartering and haggling for prices, to Rickon’s slow reasoning, must be the exception. Finally he nodded, gulping.

“Ah, yes, Mister Bilbo sir. There is no need for that. Twelve silver pieces it is.”

Bilbo’s polite smile returned and he shook the man’s hand. “Excellent! My companion will take care of the rest.” He hopped off the stool to face the surprised dwarves. “What? I couldn’t very well let him overcharge us now could I?”

Balin tilted his head slightly and smiled. “I suppose not, Master Baggins.”

Thorin, who had not taken his eyes off of the hobbit throughout the entire exchange, visibly shook himself and began recounting silver. After a few moments he gave the decided twelve pieces to Rickon and turned to Bilbo with a newfound respect. “Show us the way, Master Baggins.”

The dwarves made their way through the throng of people steadily, occasionally stopping to let a drunk person through. Up the stairs, across a landing and into the hallway, Bilbo pointed at four rooms at the end of the hall.

“These are the rooms Rickon gave us. There are only five equipped for those of our stature, and the other one is occupied. You can tell by the light behind the door.” The dwarves began to move towards the doors, a couple of them inclining their heads to him in passing.

Bilbo gently touched Fili’s elbow as he passed, and the dwarf stopped and stood beside him.

“Yes, Bilbo?”

Internally, the hobbit sighed in relief. _Finally done with calling me “Mister.” It’s about time._ “Where am I to sleep tonight? The others spoke of splitting according to family, and while I wouldn’t mind staying with Ori, Dori hasn’t been too terribly fond of me so far and I’m not sure that he would allow it.”

Kili popped up behind his brother. “With us, of course! Can’t let any of the older ones – like Dori – scare you off.” The prince winked at Bilbo before grabbing his brother’s arm and dragging him to the room on the end that Thorin had entered. Fili shot him a grin before disappearing into the room as well.

Bilbo stood in place, stunned. _With the princes and king? Really? Well. This should be an interesting night._ He walked into the room, size appropriate for smaller folk, and took the bed closest to the window and across the way from the princes’. _Oh. This means I’m beside Thorin._ The older dwarf was pulling out a new tunic from his pack, and before Bilbo knew what was happening, all three of the dwarves were changing clothes. Bilbo blushed a deep red and turned away. He may be bolder than most hobbits, but when it came to bodies, he was just as proper and reserved as the rest of his kin. Quickly he joined them in stripping (still facing away, thank you!) and changed into a red tunic with fine gold embroidering around the edges and tan pants. Once he had secured the leather belt (with stamped vine patterns and an acorn for the buckle) around his waist, he walked between his and Thorin’s beds to check his hair and ear cuff in the mirror. He blushed as his eyes met Thorin’s in the mirror, wondering if the dwarf had peeked at him, but Thorin quickly tore his eyes away and headed out the door with his chattering nephews.

Awhile ago in his smial he had been packing and reasoned, _you never know when you’ll need a nice outfit_ , and packed the fine tunic. And thankfully he and the dwarves had bathed that morning in the river, so there was no worry of soiling it. Bilbo was immensely grateful for both of these things, seeing as this had the potential to be quite the night.

Deciding that he was looking quite decent, thank you very much, he went downstairs to join the others.

Standing on the third stair from the floor he looked around and spotted the dwarves, all sitting at a long table near the middle of the room. A bright smile on his face, he was halfway to them when a familiar voice called his name. He turned toward the sound, only to have a female hobbit with bright green eyes and curly black hair slam into him. They hugged, rocking slightly from the inertia, before she pulled back and grasped his hands, bouncing excitedly.

“Primula!” He exclaimed. “How are you, cousin? I hadn’t expected to see you here.” She grinned and winked.

“I’m great! And I’m here because your cousins dragged me here, of course!”

He looked around, smiling even brighter if that was possible. “Aster and Alder?”

She laughed, a beautiful sound clear as a bell. “Of course! Who else would dare come here besides those crazy Tooks?”

They laughed and he rolled his eyes playfully. “You, obviously.”

“Oh shush Bilbo,” she gently slapped his arm, “I’m perfectly respectable, thank you very much!” She sniffed, mirth still in her eyes.

“Come, meet my companions!” Bilbo took her by the elbow and guided her over to the dwarves, slipping between tall folk as they did so. Aster and Alder caught up to them right as they reached the table. “Bilbo!” they cried in unison. They weren’t quite twins, but there were few ways to tell the two brothers apart. Both had the same strawberry blond hair, blue eyes, button noses, and mischievous grins. Bilbo gave a yelp as his feet left the ground, the brothers each picking up an end and hugging him tightly. Alder got his back and Aster hugged his legs.

“Cousin!” Aster said when they finally let him go. “It’s good to see you!” His cheeks were red, clearly from ale. “Are these the dwarves you ran off with? The whole Shire has been in an uproar!”

Alder picked up after this brother, wagging his finger back and forth for effect, “Now, we condone this type of behavior, so don’t you worry!”

Bilbo blushed as he turned to the dwarves who had watched the reunion with varying degrees of interest. “These are my cousins, Primula Brandybuck,” the dark haired female hobbit gave a bow, “Alder, and Aster. The latter two are Tooks, the side of the family I take after.” He said this with a wink to Primula as the brothers bowed in unison.

The three hobbits intermingled wonderfully with the younger dwarves. Primula found herself between Fili and Kili (much to Bilbo’s dismay), across the table from Aster and Alder. The brothers were squished side by side between Ori and Bilbo, Bofur on the other side of Bilbo. Thorin was sitting on the end of the bench beside Fili, with Dwalin across from him, Dwalin being beside Bofur. Bilbo didn’t pay much attention to the other dwarves, as the ones near him took up all of his concentration.

After a few minutes of light chatter, Bofur challenged Bilbo to a drinking contest. The other three hobbits had already been mostly drunk by the time Bilbo and the dwarves had arrived, and therefore cheered loudly approval.

“You’re gonna be travelin’ with dwarves,” The miner grinned, “So you ought to learn how to drink like ‘em!” Bilbo shook his head but rose to the challenge, never one to be called chicken. They stood and moved to the end of the table, dragging over a couple chairs. Thorin was on Bilbo’s side, and Dwalin on Bofur’s. Fili was the mediator.

“On your cups!” He called. “Get set, drink!”

The hobbit and dwarf began chugging ale, small amounts occasionally slipping past the corners of their mouths. After the fifth tankard, Bofur let out a large belch that was met with cheers. “Go Bofur!” Called Gloin, and other encouragements came from the mouths of his comrades. Fili and Kili cheered for Bilbo, and Thorin simply smiled, shaking his head at their antics – and if he slipped a bet into Nori’s pile, no one could blame him.

Bilbo, once again to not be out-done, burped just as loud and slightly longer than Bofur. Laughter encouraged the pair, and they began throwing back ales once again.

After twelve, Bofur slammed down his tankard, swaying. “Oi, mate, I’ve had enough. I got the spins!” Cheering from half the table arose, and those who had bet on Bilbo to win (Nori himself, Fili, Kili, Thorin, Ori, and the hobbits – who admittedly knew how good of a drinker their cousin was) called for their silver, and laughed at the stunned faces of the other dwarves who had lost.

“Oi, Bilbo!” yelled Aster from halfway down the table. “Let’s show your dwarves some hobbit fun, shall we?” Bilbo laughed unrestrained, drunk off his ass but still in good enough form to dance.

“Sure! Which song?”

Aster winked and ran upstairs, returning before you could say Bob’s your uncle. Two fiddles were in his hands, and he gave one to his brother. “Your song, of course! The one that won you the ribbon at last summer’s eve contest!”

“Oh!” Bilbo giggled, leaning against the edge of the table. “Very well! I imagine you’ll enjoy this.” He said the second part to Thorin and winked, bolder than normal thanks to the alcohol. Had he been sober, he would have asked himself why on _this green earth he thought that was a good idea,_ but Thorin merely raised his eyebrows interest.

“We’ll see about that, Master Baggins.” His voice was playful yet quiet, so none other than them could hear his reply. Thorin downed his eighth tankard of the night before slamming it down and sliding over the full one sitting beside it and chugging that one as well, all in the time it took Bilbo to climb onto the table and help Primula up as well. Dwalin met eyes with his friend and raised an eyebrow, curious, but not stupid enough to ask in public. He stood to retrieve new ales for him and his king, patting his shoulder when he went around the table.

With Primula and Bilbo on the table, Bilbo began to sing, immediately capturing the interest of all the inn’s patrons. Hobbits were known for their partying skills, after all.

_“There's an inn of old renown, Where they brew a beer so brown_

_Moon came rolling down the hill one Hevensday night to drink his fill.”_

He and Primula locked arms and began dancing as Aster and Alder sang along with their fiddles.

_“On a three-stringed fiddle there, Played the Ostler's cat so fair_

_The hornéd Cow that night was seen, To dance a jig upon the green.”_

Bilbo and Primula began singing together, facing each other and clapping their hands above their heads in time to the music, while moving their feet in a common hobbit jig.

_“Called by the fiddle to the middle of the muddle where the_

_Cow with a caper sent the small dog squealing._

_Moon in a fuddle went to huddle by the griddle but he_

_Slipped in a puddle and the world went reeling._

_Downsides went up- hey! Outsides went wide._

_As the fiddle played a twiddle and the Moon slept till Sterrenday.”_

On every ‘hey!’ they threw their arms out.

_“Upsides went west- hey! Broadsides went boom._

_With a twiddle on the fiddle in the middle by the griddle and the Moon slept, till Sterrenday!”_

Here a musical interlude began and the brothers went hard on their fiddles, dancing in place as they did so. The dwarves were laughing and otherwise encouraging the hobbits, along with most of the inn. Bilbo and Primula danced around either ends of the table, Bilbo on Thorin’s end and she on the opposite. They no longer clapped, but spun with the music, barely avoiding nearby mugs.

_(Bilbo)_

_“Dish from off the dresser pranced,_

_Found a spoon and gaily danced!”_

_(Primula)_

_Horses neighed and champed their bits_

_For the bloodshot Moon had lost his wits._

_(Bilbo)_

_Well, cow jumped over, Dog barked wild,_

_Moon lay prone and sweetly smiled._

_(Aster)_

_Ostler cried, ‘Play faster, Cat!’_

_(All Hobbits)_

_Because we all want to dance like that!"_

Here the Company, having caught on to the tune, began stomping and banging on the table in rhythm, adding a dwarven twist to the already exciting song.

Primula and Bilbo once again faced each other, throwing out their arms and dancing, singing even faster, energetic smiles still covering their faces.

_“Gambol and totter till you're hotter than a hatter and you_

_Spin all akimbo like a windmill flailing._

_Whirl with a clatter till you scatter every cotter and the_

_Strings start a-pinging as the world goes sailing.”_

He danced facing Thorin, uncaring of what anyone else might have thought. When their eyes met, the king licked his lips and took his tankard, holding it up to the hobbit before clearing it.

 _To hell with propriety tonight!_ The hobbit thought gleefully.

_“Downsides go up- hey!_

_Outsides go wide. You can clatter with your platter_

_But the Moon slept till Sterrenday._

_Upsides go west- hey! Broadsides go boom._

_With a batter and a clatter you can shatter every platter_

_But the Moon slept till Sterrenday.”_

Aster yelled, “Repeat after us, Master Dwarves!” And so after each line the dwarves echoed the hobbits. Bilbo beamed at Thorin and the king grinned back, feeling the ale loosening his normal restraints.

“Fi-fo-fiddle-diddle

_Fi-fo-fiddle-diddle_

Hey-yey-yey-yey-oh-ho

_Hey-yey-yey-yey-oh-ho_

Hey-hey-din-gen-do

_Hey-hey-din-geli-do_

Hoo-rye-and-hott-a-cott-a ho

_Hoo-rye-and-hott-a-cott-a ho ho_

Hott-a-cott-a-hotta-ko

_Hott-a-cott-a-ko-cott-a-ko-ho_

Fi-fo-fiddle-diddle-hi-ho

_Fi-fo-fiddle-diddle-hi-ho_

Ho fiddlee-ding-galli-do

_Ho fiddlee-ding-galli-do_

Hoo-rye-hoo-rye oops-oops- ay!

_Hoo-rye-hoo-rye oops-oops- ay!_

Hotta-cotta-hotta-cotta-mi-fo-fo

_Hotta-cotta-hotta-cotta-mi-fo-fo_

Hotta-cotta-hotta-cotta-hotta-cotta-mi-fo-fo!”

The dwarves laughed after their part was over, clearly enjoying themselves. Thorin’s eyes twinkled silvery-blue in the light, and Bilbo felt as if the dwarf had cupped his bottom, even though he clearly hadn’t. The feeling made him blush even as he and his cousins sang the last part together.

_“Downsides go up- hey! Outsides go wide._

_With a twiddle on the fiddle in the middle by the griddle_

_And the Moon slept till Sterrenday._

_Upsides go west- hey! Broadsides go boom._

_With a batter and a clatter you can shatter every platter_

_But the Moon slept till Sterrendaaa-ay!”_

The brothers brought their fiddles to a halt and the whole inn erupted in cheers and clapping. The four hobbits bowed to their audience and Bilbo hopped off the table. He bumped Thorin with his hip and the king raised an eyebrow, a pink ale-blush covering the half his face without a beard and contrasting beautifully with his silvery blue eyes. He squeezed into the other dwarves, making just enough room for Bilbo on the bench.

“Well Master Baggins, I must say, I am quite impressed after all.”

 _His smile could light up all of Middle Earth, sun be damned,_ thought Bilbo. The hobbit smiled wide, matching Thorin’s. “I knew you would be. By the way, I just wanted to say,” he bit his lip and blushed, head tilting slightly and never leaving the eyes of the king (though Thorin’s eyes were drawn to Bilbo’s lips before back up again). “You are absolutely stunning.”

Thorin appeared to be very surprised by his statement, but the surprise quickly turned into a sly grin. His eyes glittered over the tankard as he took a gulp, before placing it back down. “You’re quite easy on the eyes yourself.”

 _Oh,_ thought Bilbo, feeling a phantom pinch along his left buttock. He knew it wasn’t physically from Thorin since both his hands were clearly occupied by the tankard in front of him. Bilbo didn’t let the surprise show on his face, but allowed the feeling spur him into acting even bolder.

“Do you think so?” Bilbo shrugged. “Most hobbits believe I’m far too lean.” He snagged one of Dwalin’s untouched cups of ale (much to the rugged dwarf’s amusement) and slid it over to Thorin, who snorted and shook his head.

“They’re fools.” He paused, eyeing the tankard before teasing the hobbit. “Trying to get me drunk, Bilbo?” Bilbo jumped slightly before leaning into the dwarf’s arm with a bright smile.

“I do believe that’s the first time you’ve called me by name.”

Thorin nodded, accepting the fact for what it was. “Aye, I suppose it is. Good mead and better company tend to loosen my tongue a bit.”

Bilbo laughed. “In that case, drink up.”

The two then joined the general conversation around the table, which was currently about the prettiest lads and lasses that they had seen. Most of the dwarves chose their wives (when there was one to be had), while Kili went on about a gorgeous female ranger he had caught sight of between Ered Luin and the Shire. Fili cuffed him on the back of the head for it, “She’s a human!” causing the company to roar with laughter. When they reached Thorin and Bilbo, both refused to answer, grinning. A soft feeling enveloped them when their eyes met, and Bilbo turned the direction of the conversation back to Fili, joking about a serving lass he had seen the prince eyeing.

Two hours later and most of the dwarves had moved upstairs, along with Bilbo’s cousins. They had embraced him happily, and Aster nearly made them both fall from how drunk he was.

“Make sure to write,” he slurred. Bilbo nodded, forgetting that there was always the chance he may not return, and promised to send them a letter as soon as he could.

Primula had hugged him and whispered in his ear, “Good luck with the handsome one,” and winked when she pulled back. “I expect lots of details, Bilbo Baggins!” He laughed and promised he would send everything, if anything even happened. She rolled her eyes before waving goodbye and heading up the stairs.

The only dwarves left at the table were Bofur, Nori, and Ori, the former two corrupting the younger with raunchy tales. Thorin had headed up briefly before the hobbits. Bilbo bade them goodnight and headed towards the stairs. _At least Thorin’s as buzzed as I am,_ he thought happily.

He was almost to the second floor and had reached the landing when he was pulled into a small windowed alcove, mostly hidden by a large potted plant. His cry was muffled by a large hand across his mouth, and he silenced when he came face to face with familiar set of moonstone eyes, lit by a shaft of moonlight. Bilbo pulled the hand away and giggled quietly, turning and leaning his back against the wall best hidden by the plant. He fisted his hands in Thorin’s tunic, pulling the surprised dwarf against him. Bilbo tilted his head up so he could whisper in the king’s ear.

“Can I help you, Thorin?”

The dwarf shuddered against him and pulled back to push their foreheads together, raven hair flowing like a curtain. Warmth exploded from the skin on skin contact.

Thorin’s eyes were almost black from the dim lighting cast by the moon, as Bilbo’s motion had pulled him away from the thin shaft of light. There was a peculiar way the light played off them as well: much like the way light plays on obsidian. Bilbo offhandedly realized that this was probably an effect of dwarves’ keen eyesight in the dark. Ripples of heat were tearing through the pair, and Thorin’s voice was low and throaty when he spoke.

“I wanted to say goodnight.” His breath, sweet from cinnamon rolls and mixed with the smell of ale, rolled smooth against Bilbo’s mouth and chin. Bilbo pushed down his surprise but his grin turned into a shy smile when Thorin cupped his cheek, thumb brushing over his soft skin curiously. _Is he…actually going to kiss me? I mean he was rather…forward, earlier, but this…_

“Oh really?” Bilbo spoke quietly and raised an eyebrow flirtatiously, but his smile was still soft and shy. “And you couldn’t say goodnight in our room because…?“

“Fili and Kili.”

Bilbo looked at him, grinning far too wide for any respectable Baggins – but truly, he could hardly remember why _respectability_ ever mattered in the first place.

“Why, is there something you don’t want them to see?” He feigned ignorance.

Thorin growled quietly, pushing his hips against Bilbo so that the hobbit was truly pinned to the wall. He turned his head to speak in Bilbo’s ear, low and gravelly.

“You tell me, Bilbo. Would you want them to see this?”

Bilbo gasped quietly, feeling a welcome thickness press into his hip.

“Depends, do you intend on doing anything or not?”

In response, Thorin licked the outer edge of Bilbo’s ear, just the tip. The accompanying whimper was all the dwarf needed to say, “I shouldn’t, I really shouldn’t, but I _really_ can’t find a reason to care.”

“Wha-what are these reasons you –“ He cut off as lips wrapped around the tip of his ear and _sucked_ , and he saw stars. A choked moan came from him, and Thorin gently shushed him. The dwarf ducked his head into the dip of Bilbo’s neck, gently kissing the skin there instead of the ultra-sensitive ear. With the pressure no longer on his ear, the hobbit found he could speak again – though he was definitely jelly under the dwarf’s attention. “And _what_ , pray tell, are these horrible reasons?”

Thorin chuckled, the air feeling cool against a small, damp portion of Bilbo’s neck.

“Oh, you know, the usual. Responsibility, propriety, avoiding distractions, kingly duties, the fact we barely know each other…” he ticked off each reason with a quick kiss, trailing his way up to Bilbo’s face. “The list goes on and on I’m afraid.” He kissed the side of the hobbit’s jaw. “And yet,” he voice dropped an octave, moving his hands from Bilbo’s jaw to his hips, pressing their foreheads together again and lightly bumping their noses, “I cannot find it within myself to care.”

Bilbo ground against Thorin in a show of approval. “Well thank the Valar for that,” he murmured. “If you were to leave me now, I shan’t be responsible for my actions.”

Bilbo was silenced as lips pressed against his with a softness that he did not know the race of stone possessed. It was light and giving him every chance to back out. Soft, mostly indiscernible waves of… _something_ rolled through the pair, and after a few moments Thorin pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss and giving Bilbo space (though not removing his hands) while he carefully gauged the hobbit’s reaction.

Bilbo made a small noise of protest when they separated, and had long ago decided to go along with his thought from earlier: _forget propriety tonight_.

Bilbo tilted his head up and licked his lips, eyes hooded: a clear invitation that Thorin immediately accepted.

Dipping his head back down, Thorin tilted his head slightly and met Bilbo’s lips with a stronger kiss. Bilbo returned it and marveled at the feeling of Thorin’s short beard, so different from the smooth skin of hobbits. He wrapped his arms around the dwarf’s neck, putting his hands into Thorin’s hair. Thorin froze for a moment, before returning to the kiss with vigor.

For both of them, the world seemed to condense down to this one point. Or rather, points, where they touched. Nothing else existed, nothing else mattered, except the fact that somehow – against all odds – the unlikely pair had found each other.

After an indiscernible amount of time Thorin pulled back a hair’s breadth, nuzzling Bilbo’s nose with his own as they caught their breath.

“You look stunning tonight, too,” he murmured against his burglar’s lips. Bilbo whimpered slightly at having his words from earlier come from Thorin, before reestablishing and deepening the kiss, licking into the dwarf’s mouth without a single care in the world. _Who needs air after all?_ The hobbit lightly danced around Thorin’s tongue with his own for a few moments, before sucking on the tip and Thorin _knew_ what he wanted. The king took control and his left hand gripped Bilbo’s hip tighter, the right moving to cup the hobbit’s exotically soft cheek. Thorin delved deep into the taste of berries and ale that was his partner’s mouth, mind lost in abandon.

When Bilbo let out a particularly delicious moan, his hand moved from cupping a cheek to lightly pulling on blond curls. Though their bodies were already flush, they both tried to get even closer.

Just as Thorin was debating on the logistics of getting away with _more_ in the small space, footsteps and voices broke their trance. Thorin dropped his head to Bilbo’s shoulder, pressing his mouth into the tunic to muffle his heavy breathing. Bilbo buried his face into Thorin’s shoulder doing the same.

Nori’s voice was slurred as he spoke. “I give it until Mirkwood. Fifteen silver coins.”

Bofur laughed heartily, “That’s quite a wager! I say there’ll be a bead in our hobbit’s hair by the Misty Mountains at the latest. Not sure if you’ve noticed but-“ A large blech from Ori cut him off and sent the trio into giggles, their footsteps becoming heavier as they walked past Bilbo and Thorin’s nook. Bofur continued speaking through laughs, footsteps heading up the stairs. “But our – our king is not exactly the most patient of beings and I doubt he’d wait that long.” Whatever else he may have said was lost as they reached the second floor and went around the corner to their rooms.

Bilbo giggled, finding it hilarious how close they had come to the pair while taking wagers on them. Thorin shook his head, a quiet laugh muffled by the cloth at his shoulder.

“We should sleep, Bilbo.” He pulled back, his eyes shining with mirth. Bilbo nodded, grinning.

“Yes, I suppose we should.”

The two kissed a few more times though, reluctant to part. In the end, Bilbo pushed Thorin away with an amused smile, taking his hand and leading the dwarf up the stairs. They kissed once more in front of their room, slowly and sweetly, before letting go and entering it.

Both Fili and Kili were deeply asleep, quiet snores accompanying their rest. Bilbo laid upon his bed, not caring about his clothes at all. It was unlikely that he would wear them again in the foreseeable future, so a few wrinkles weren’t much of a worry to him. He put his back to the room, face towards the window, and closed his eyes. A light smile played across his lips, almost invisible in the dim moonlight.

About an hour later he woke, feeling the bed dip behind him. He turned his head to look and Thorin froze, a knee and hand on the bed. Bilbo merely smiled sleepily and reached out to pull gently on the dwarf’s tunic. Thorin relaxed, a crooked grin playing on his lips. He crawled into the bed, spooning against Bilbo.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he murmured quietly.

Bilbo smiled, turning his head to lightly kiss the shy king behind him.

“No matter,” Bilbo whispered. “You’re here now. Sleep.”

“I will, but…I have something to ask you.”

Bilbo shifted slightly, pulling the dwarf’s arm around him.

“Alright, what is it?”

“Would you keep first watch with me from now on? I would enjoy getting to know you.”

“Gladly. Now sleep.” He wiggled, pushing closer to Thorin and falling asleep.

And sleep they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that wasn't too sudden, but if it does seem so -understand that all will be explained.  
> Next chapter will include our first fight scenes!  
> (This was not beta'd, but will be edited later if anything is amiss.)


	6. Shadows in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning after, important conversation, and Bilbo's first skirmish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful ArielT, who catches my mistakes.

The next morning, Bilbo woke to a steady pressure at his back. Light filtered in through the large window at the end of the room, illuminating all. It only took a few moments for all of the dots to connect.

_Oh my sweet...Sweet, sweet Yavanna. Thorin is behind me. THORIN IS BEHIND ME._

For a few seconds he began to panic, thinking that the dwarf would wake up and probably hate him for what happened last night. He himself had stated all the reasons why what they were doing was a bad idea…

Then, in his sleep, Thorin grumbled slightly and tightened his grip around Bilbo. His other arm was beneath their pillow, and Bilbo’s left hand was lying in his. A gentle, cool breeze blew through the hobbit’s mind (a subconscious action from Thorin) and he calmed, rationalizing that _yes, Thorin wanted me very much,_ and _no, he would never be mad at me when he made the first move._

Bilbo craned his neck the best he could and was rewarded instantly for his efforts. Thorin was also covered in gentle light from the window, his face slack in sleep.

 _He looks young,_ Bilbo thought suddenly. _So young, and so handsome._ _Not that he isn’t always handsome, of course, but this is… different. I wonder how old he is._ Then another thought crept up on him. _How long do dwarves live?_

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a shifting across the way. He froze, realizing that it must be Kili and Fili waking. He lifted his head slightly to see, and indeed, both brothers were propped up on their elbows with shocked looks. Mouths wide open, eyebrows high—clearly, they had not been expecting to see such a spectacle so soon in the morning (if ever). Never had either of them seen Thorin sleep beside anyone besides themselves. He was a loner, and virtually every dwarf west of Erebor knew that: The crownless, Oneless king who was utterly devoted to his people.

Bilbo gently pulled his left hand from Thorin’s (though he left the right one—entwined with the dwarf’s fingers through his on his stomach—in its place) to put it against his lips in the universal sign for silence. He shook his head gently as he did so. They both broke into wide grins, looking from each other to him.

“Wake him,” Fili mouthed. He then pointed at himself and his brother, before making the universal sign for sleep (both hands together, under a tilted head). “Pretend,” he mouthed again. Kili rolled his eyes but nodded in agreement. Bilbo smiled, glad that the brothers were willing to work with him.

“Talk later,” Bilbo mouthed back. He also raised his eyebrows in a serious “don’t you dare tell anyone or else” stare that both brothers nodded at. The pair then lay back into bed and rolled over to hide their faces, just in case their uncle took a look at them.

Gently, Bilbo began moving against Thorin. It wasn’t anything inappropriate, just some slight movements in hopes that he would wake. He rolled his eyes dramatically when the dwarf didn’t budge. Bilbo’s eyes brightened at a thought, and he bit his lip to keep his laughter in as he did so. It was such a rude way to wake someone when you didn’t plan on doing anything, but considering there was already a pressure against his backside...

He pushed his hips back into Thorin’s, and the dwarf groaned in his sleep before blearily opening his eyes. They were pale blue at the moment, and Bilbo smiled and sighed seeing him this way.

“Bilbo?” His voice was rough from sleep, a different rough than the night before. The hobbit, still smiling, twisted in his arms so he could face him, throwing a leg over the other’s hips and wrapping his left arm around to play with the long locks that fell to mid-back.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” A smile played on his face, one he couldn’t hide. _And really, I have no reason to act any different than I feel. Not here, not now, not with him._

Thorin smirked at the term of endearment and kissed him. He pulled away before becoming more Thorin-like and said seriously, “I didn’t dream last night, did I?”

Bilbo laughed quietly, threading his fingers through the dwarf’s raven hair. “No, you most definitely did not. You are here, aren’t you?”

Thorin smiled crookedly and shyly. Bilbo’s breath was stolen away at such a sweet and _young_ expression on the normally stern face, and further stolen when Thorin pushed their foreheads together, warmth moving from the dwarf to him. The hobbit was very surprised to hear words murmured in a language he had never heard before, only heard tale of.

“E arzimthi...astu zu khebabmudtê.”

Bilbo pulled back, cocking his head and hoping to the Valar that Thorin didn’t hear the sudden, muffled intakes of breath across from them. “What does that mean?”

Thorin simply smirked before kissing him quickly and thoroughly. He then extricated himself from Bilbo and stood, stretching. The hobbit appreciated the view but wouldn’t let the question go.

“Thorin, what does e-arzi ast zu khebab-te mean?”

The dwarf laughed (mainly at his horrible pronunciation), blue eyes shining as he finished stretching and settled back on his heels. “One day I will tell you, kurkarukê.”

Bilbo hopped up, indignant. “And that!” He put his hands on his hips and frowned. “What do all those words _mean,_ Thorin? How do I know you aren't mocking me?”

Thorin frowned as well, clearly not having thought the hobbit might think that words said so sweetly could mean such things. “It isn't mocking at all. They are good things. Kind words in my language. Alas,” he shrugged, running a hand through his hair, “I cannot teach you…” His eyes lit up again and he gifted Bilbo with another one of his rare smiles. “…Yet.”

Bilbo just stood there, irritated. “And why can’t you teach me now if you can later? It’s not as if I’m incapable of learning other languages,” he huffed, not enjoying the feeling of being underestimated.

Thorin came around the bed to pull a resisting Bilbo against him. Of course, that resistance melted as soon as he was in the dwarf’s embrace.

“I do not doubt your skill at languages. However, as dwarves, we are not allowed to teach our language to those outside of our own race. It is sacred to us. One day,” here he pushed his nose into Bilbo’s curls, “I will be able to tell you. But for now, you will have to trust me when I say they are kind.”

Bilbo squeezed him once before deciding to revisit this argument later. He let him go and remembered all that was in store for their day.

“You should wake the others. We still need to buy supplies, and I guarantee there are few awake at this hour.”

It was interesting, really, to see Thorin go from lover to king instantaneously. It was as if a curtain of responsibility dropped across his face, tightening his brow and flattening his mouth. Still, he pecked a kiss to the burglar’s lips before agreeing and beginning to change for the day, putting on the furs and light armor that he normally wore. It wasn’t long after that that Fili and Kili pretended to wake up (a little too dramatically for Bilbo’s taste, but Thorin didn’t seem to notice) and began changing as well.

An hour later the entire company was awake and dressed, ready to go out and buy their last items before heading out onto the great East-West Road.

**********

After setting up camp and finishing dinner, bedrolls were laid out. Bilbo laid his down closest to the fire, feeling the cold a little more strongly than the well-furred dwarves around him. He straightened and saw Thorin coming towards him—only to have his line of sight cut off by a smiling Kili.

“Why are you so close to the fire? Why, one errant spark and you’d be on fire yourself!”

Bilbo shook his head, smiling. “It’s cold, you blasted dwarf. Don’t you feel it?”

Kili rolled his eyes and pulled at the front of his armor. “No, obviously. We dressed for the road, unlike _somebody._ Want to sleep between me and Fili? Mother always did say we were little forges ourselves.”

Bilbo almost agreed, but Kili just had to throw in a wink. “Ah, I’d rather not. Don’t want to wake with a hand where I don’t want it. Surely you understand?”

Fili came up from the side, having heard what Bilbo said. He cuffed his brother on the back of his head, ignoring his yelp.

“Ignore my brother. You won’t find any wandering hands, and if he does, I’ll _help_ uncle cut them off. You’re cold, Bilbo.” He put his hand on the hobbit’s shoulder. “Let us help you. Just sleep between us, rolled up in your blanket. We won’t bother you, and you’ll actually get sleep instead of catching fire.”

Bilbo mulled it over for a moment, rocking back and forward on his heels. He looked down at his bedroll. _Well, it is awfully close to the fire._

“Sure, boys. So long as your hands keep to yourselves.”

Fili grinned and clapped Bilbo’s shoulder. “Come on, friend. Let’s get your stuff moved.”

Bilbo didn’t see Thorin’s frosty gaze on him and his nephews.

Fifteen or so minutes later, Bilbo approached Thorin a little past the edge of camp. It was far enough away that no one would be able to hear them, so long as they didn’t yell. Thorin had his body in the same position from the night they sang that beautiful dwarvish love song: knees bent, elbows on the knees. He was smoking dwarvish leaf out of his pipe, and offered it to Bilbo when he sat cross-legged beside him.

He waited until the hobbit had gotten in a good inhale before asking, “Taking up with my nephews, I see?”

Bilbo sputtered, coughing smoke out of his nose and mouth. “Excuse me?”

Though he didn’t say it, Thorin loved the way Bilbo was blushing. Those exotic cheeks were pretty enough on a day-to-day basis, but with that pinkness? _I want him, Mahal do I want him. This isn’t the time for that,_ he chastised.

“It doesn’t mean anything. I was cold, and they offered to let me sleep between them for warmth. That’s it.”

Thorin nodded, thinking. “Is that so?” His voice was low and wary. He had firmly expected Bilbo to share his bedroll on the road, but... _It is not as if we are betrothed... I have yet to even begin the proper courting steps, he can still take up with either of them...One night does not mean he returns the depth of my affections._ A voice that sounded suspiciously like Bilbo’s (but actually wasn’t) said he wouldn’t be that loose with his affections. He was pulled out of his brooding thoughts when Bilbo spoke.

“Fili even said he’d help you cut off Kili’s hand if he touched me.” Bilbo was matter of fact, and surprised that Thorin seemed to be worried by this. “You don’t actually think…” He trailed off when Thorin gave him a look. “Oh, come off it! You don’t really think that I would _be_ with either of them, do you? They’re practically kids!”

Thorin closed his eyes and hid a grin at the way Bilbo called his nephews “kids.”

“And how old are you exactly? Both of them are above sixty-five, the age that is required for full adulthood. They may be young, I’ll grant you that, but neither of them are children.”

Thorin felt as if a bucket of cold water was dumped over his head and he shivered, looking up briefly to make sure that that indeed had not occurred. Turning his gaze back to the hobbit, he waited. When still no answer was forthcoming, Thorin noticed Bilbo ignoring his pipe and continuing to stare dumbstruck at him. The pipe was precariously hanging, loose between his fingers, so Thorin took it and began to smoke it himself. He raised his eyebrows when there was still silence.

“What have I said?” A thought crossed the dwarf’s mind. “Ah, do hobbits come of age earlier? Surely you are no more than one hundred and thirty yourself, though I would guess you closer to Kili and Fili’s age.” Still, all he received was that blank stare. “A hundred?”

Finally the dunked-in-cold-water feeling went away, at least for the most part. The hobbit shook his head and frowned deeply, staring beseechingly into Thorin’s eyes as though he wished the dwarf would pluck the answer from his mind instead of forcing him to speak it himself.

“I’m…I’m only fifty, Thorin. Fifty three, to be exact. How—how long do dwarves live?”

It was Bilbo’s turn to be dunked in cold water as Thorin’s eyes widened, clearly shocked. “Fifty?! Surely—but—you look…” He shook his head in disbelief. “What—what have I done?” He whispered, pinching the bridge of his nose between his eyes with two fingers. A soft hand touched his and he recoiled, bringing eyes full of shame to Bilbo’s. The hobbit was saddened and frowning, but not for the reason Thorin thought.

“Hobbits… we normally only live to be a hundred, Thorin. The oldest in record was a hundred and thirty. We reach our majority at thirty-three, however. I’m… essentially, still in the prime of my life.” He shrugged. “But I… I must say, I am not aging… properly.” Here he laughed quietly, but it was a strained noise. Thorin (reassured that he hadn't assaulted a minor) took his hand, finding strength in that blooming warmth he always felt when they touched.

The dwarf’s voice was quiet, almost inaudible. “What do you mean, you’re not aging right?” Of course he feared the worst, despite Bilbo looking quite young. Bilbo entwined their fingers, staring deep into the blue pools of worry.

“I’m aging slowly. Far too slow.” This was something he had never told anyone, and his mother had died long before he had begun to notice. “I… Thorin, I haven’t gotten a single wrinkle since I turned thirty. _Not one._ And while I shouldn’t be looking like a grandfather, I… I should have _changed_. Something, anything—perhaps a strand of grey in my hair, or—or _something._ I’m too old to be this young.”

Thorin gripped Bilbo’s hand tighter, feeling something deep within him: the same feeling he felt when he touched the key Gandalf gave him. _Hope._ It spread through Bilbo as well, and soon they were smiling slightly even as their brows were pained. Thorin reached up to touch the lines caused by Bilbo’s frowning, smoothing them out with his fingertips. His own frown lines disappeared as the others’ did.

“I wish…” His voice was quiet, wistful. “I wish we were already in Erebor, among the greatest library in all of Middle-Earth. We have texts,” He spoke stronger as Bilbo’s interest piped at the mention of ‘greatest library’. “From all of the races, though I will admit most of them are in Khuzdul. That is the name of our language. I am sure that somewhere among those tomes is an answer… But I am afraid I have none to give.”

“Ori!” Bilbo almost shouted it, causing Thorin to jump slightly and glance around furtively, realizing they hadn’t been keeping guard half as well as they should. Assured that the coast was clear (and not too worried with a sleeping wizard somewhere among his company), he turned back to the hobbit. “Ori could probably tell us!” His voice was back to normal tones now, but he spoke quickly. “Balin said the other night—remember! He’s the _expert_ on romance, but he knows a lot about other subjects too. I bet that if anyone knows, it would be him!”

Thorin fell backwards slightly, and allowed the rock to hold his weight. It made sense. Besides, an expert on romance might be exactly what they needed if Thorin's suspicions were correct. “Do you think so?” He gripped Bilbo’s hand tighter.

“Yes!”

That bright grin of Bilbo’s was all that it took for Thorin to quickly lean over and kiss him quickly and firmly before standing and striding back towards camp. Bilbo wanted to go after him, but watched the night instead. Even this close to Bree, you never knew what could be lurking. Bandits were a common occurrence outside of cities, and he wouldn’t let his friends be caught unaware because he was curious.

Within a few minutes Thorin was back, an unkempt looking Ori in tow. The scribe was slightly frightened, but really, who wouldn’t be afraid after a hurried awakening from their king in the middle of the night? He relaxed some when he saw Bilbo.

“Ah, what is this about?” He didn’t mention the fact that it was near midnight, nor did he mention the fact that he was clearly in no state to see both of them at the moment with his braids undone the way they were. Thorin didn’t care, and replied quickly.

“You’re the expert on romance, right?”

Ori slowly turned his head to look at him, a deep blush forming on his cheeks that was visible even in the low light away from camp. Bilbo laughed at his expression. “As far as lore goes,” the hobbit explained with a smile.

“Ah!” Ori calmed, smiling. Work. Yes, he could do this. “Yes, I suppose I am.” He preened slightly, running his fingers through his messy bedhead. “What do you need to know?”

Thorin looked at Bilbo before gesturing for Ori to sit, and moments later all three of them sat in a triangle with Thorin facing the woods. It was Bilbo who spoke first, twisting his hands together. Thorin’s gut tightened, feeling the unease.

“I… I have a confession to make, but it cannot, under any circumstances, leave us three. Alright?” The scribe nodded, excited to be let in on a secret between his king and new friend. Bilbo took a deep breath before continuing. “Do you know the lifespan of hobbits?”

Ori nodded again. “Yes. Roughly a hundred years, right?”

Bilbo nodded. “Have you interacted enough with us to guess my age?”

Here Ori tilted his head, thinking. If this was a test, he was determined to pass. He had certainly interacted with enough of them through trade, as hobbits had some of the finest quills to be found. Not to mention the lovely berries that created some of his inks! “Ah, I’d have to say…thirty-three? Thirty-eight at the very most?”

He was confused by the ‘see, I _told you_ ’ look that his friend gave his king.

“I’m fifty-three, Ori. Fifty-three.”

Here Ori frowned, leaning forward to better inspect the hobbit. “Impossible. I met plenty of hobbits through trade and—no. Surely not? Or am I simply incorrect when it comes to what hobbits normally look like at your age?”

Here Bilbo met Thorin’s eyes again. “No, you’re right Ori. And this is why Thorin woke you up in the middle of the night. You see, I haven’t aged at all since I hit thirty. Not one wrinkle, not one grey hair.”

Ori couldn’t help the “Oooo” noise that escaped him. “Truly? This is. Why, this is incredible Bilbo!” He began to inspect the hobbit, starting with his hands and moving to his face, turning it this way and that. “I… I may have an answer.” He let go of the hobbit and smiled brightly, taking into account all he knew of Bilbo. Both Thorin and Bilbo were looking at him earnestly, and had he been less excited, he may have wondered _why_ exactly his king was so keen on finding out the reason.

“I believe… now, I will have to consult Balin on this. But back in Ered Luin, we had some copies of the old tomes that had been with dwarves when Smaug took the mountain. One of them came from a young dwarrowdam. She was certain another dwarf wasn’t for her and… well, it’s a long story. But essentially, this book focused on the lore of the Valar, in respect to how Ones came to be. There was a passage—“

Thorin cut him off, inpatient. “Get to it.” Bilbo shot him a dark look in defense of his friend, but internally wholeheartedly agreed.

“Well—I think—I think that you are different, Bilbo.” Ori stared into Bilbo’s bright blue eyes as he continued. “You don’t—excuse me for saying this, but you don’t get on well with most hobbits. Your mother was different, yes, but she still got along with most of them. Right?” Bilbo nodded. “Yes, well… I think you aren’t really a hobbit. I mean you are!” Here he caught himself at Bilbo’s indignant look, “You are, biologically, a hobbit. But you’re a bit different, yes? I believe it is your soul that is different. The book… the book was what I referenced around the campfire when we smoked Bofur’s Longbottom leaf. It said that when Mahal created us and their One was not of our race, he would converse with the Valar who _did_ create their one. Oh, and you know Mahal as Aule, by the way.” Bilbo nodded impatiently, having already known that. “Right. Well, uhm, if you recall, who created hobbits?”

Bilbo smiled slowly, starting to understand where this was headed. “Yavanna.”

“Exactly! And - Thorin, who is Mahal’s wife?”

Thorin glowered at the redhead, only to raise an eyebrow at Bilbo when he thumped his knee for it. He felt a whispered, _Be nice,_ play across his mind. “Yavanna.”

Here Ori grinned, brighter than a thousand suns. “Yes! It wouldn’t be hard for him to talk to her at all, so perhaps—perhaps the reason why Bilbo isn’t aging right, why he never got along with hobbits, what if it’s because—because his _soul_ is different? Made for a dwarf, perhaps? It would make sense as to why he gets along so well with us. Even _we_ don’t get along with us as well as he does.”

After that sentence, all was silent. Both Bilbo and Thorin simply stared at Ori, wheels turning. It was a lot of information to absorb. After a few minutes Ori began to shift uncomfortably, the combined blue gazes too much for him to handle.

“Er, if it’s not too much to ask… may I go back to sleep? I’m afraid to say this is all I know on the subject.”

Thorin blinked and nodded, preoccupied with his thoughts. Bilbo’s gaze shifted to meet Thorin’s as Ori’s footsteps disappeared towards camp, and a single thought echoed between them: _it makes sense._

“You never answered my question, by the way.” Bilbo smiled wryly.

Thorin tilted his head, his lips matching Bilbo’s in a grin. His voice was dry. “And what is that? I’m afraid I’ve forgotten, in all of the excitement.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “How old are you? We’ve covered that I’m fifty three.”

The dwarf was quick to reply. “A hundred and sixteen. Not even middle age yet, I’m afraid.”

The hobbit’s eyes widened and he chuckled nervously. “That’s quite a long time to live! How long do dwarves live to in total?”

“Normally we reach around two hundred and fifty. However, I and my family are of Durin’s line, so we tend to live slightly upwards of three hundred.”

Bilbo was about to reply to that outrageous number when he heard rustling. His nose twitched at the noise and he sharply turned his head towards it. He stared into the darkness and laid a hand on Thorin’s bracer.

“Thorin,” he murmured. “There’s something out there.”

Thorin looked into the darkness, his eyes far better than Bilbo’s in such conditions. He turned his arm over and gripped Bilbo’s forearm.

“I see five men, maybe more behind them. There’s too many trees to tell. _Bandits_ , by the look of them.” He spat the word and gripped Bilbo’s forearm harder. “Wake the others, but act casual. I doubt these _men_ will be expecting much of a fight.”

Bilbo stood and as he walked past Thorin he bent down. He tilted up Thorin’s chin with a finger and was met with blue eyes, darker than he had ever seen them.

“Be careful,” he said quietly, crooking an eyebrow. “No rushing into battle one against five, you hear?” Bilbo gave him a knowing look. Thorin’s eyes softened around the edges, then he returned to his hard gaze and stared out at the forest.

Bilbo walked back to the camp unhurriedly, determined to be the perfect picture of nonchalance. He roused the dwarves quickly and quietly, murmuring their situation to each. “Wake. There are bandits. Be quiet and get ready for a fight.”

Within minutes the dwarves and Gandalf were ready. The last of them were finishing up when a shout and a jerk in Bilbo’s gut had him spinning around to face the edge of camp.

“Thorin,” he said breathlessly and ran, pulling out two silver throwing knives as he did so.

It was the first time he had seen Thorin fight, and it was glorious. The uncrowned king was parrying, shoving back his front attacker with a yell, and then spinning to slice through the neck of the man beside him. A spray of blood and a headless body slumped to the ground, blood pouring from the stump. He then swung back around, a backhanded stroke that went halfway through the torso of his original attacker. The man screamed, eyes rolling back as he fell to his knees. Thorin’s sword stuck. He jerked it, but it had become lodged in the spine. Another bandit ran towards him from his back, yelling. Thorin looked at him and began jerking frantically on his sword, trying to loosen it, but it was firmly stuck. He cursed himself for leaving all his extra knives in his pack.

Bilbo’s vision tunneled to the man, and he crow-hopped, setting his feet. His right arm came back with a blade, the left lining up the shot. He threw the knife as he hit the ground, his face twisted in a snarl and no conscious thoughts to speak of, only the overwhelming feeling of _protect._ The man flew to the side, dead before he hit the ground, silver protruding from his left temple. Bilbo continued sprinting, but now he ran with the others who had caught up to him. They swarmed around Thorin as he finally was able to pull his bloodied sword free.

Thorin met Bilbo’s eyes, and both found a new respect for each other. They nodded to each other and the hobbit walked over to retrieve his blade. After he had it, they turned and faced the rest of the bandits with their companions. The men were running out of the trees, yelling obscenities in Westron.

“Baruk Khazâd!” Thorin yelled, echoed by Dwalin, Fili and Kili. The company began running towards their attackers as one, swords and axes raised. There were far more men than they had originally thought, though that did not hamper them. Bilbo ran off parallel to them, pulling another knife out of his belt as he did so, so he held two in his left hand and the bloodied one in his right. He flanked the men, silently slipping into the dark forest behind them unseen. From here, he could safely hit them without endangering any of the dwarves.

The hobbit felt _alive_ in a way he never had before. Blood pumping, adrenaline flowing—it was not as it was before, on that winter day when so much was lost. No, he was without fear now, knowing that those he cared for could protect themselves. As he watched Fili shove his sword through the face of a bandit, coming out bright red and shining, he thought: _every one of these dwarves is worth at least five men - and of course Gandalf can take care of himself._

He saw Nori spinning around with his daggers, a whirlwind of glinting steel as he cut through a hand, then slit the owner’s throat. Another man punched him solidly in the face, stunning him briefly, and Bilbo let fly the dagger he had poised and ready. It buried itself in the back of the man’s throat and he choked, spitting blood onto Nori as the dwarf recovered and jumped back into the fray. There was blood flying everywhere, though Bilbo was pleased to see that almost all of it belonged to the men.

Bilbo had two more knives but surveying the fight, he realized that they may not even be needed. _There!_ He thought, suddenly noticing an opening in the man who was fighting with Fili. He threw his blade, wincing as it flew low and to the side, burying itself in the man’s shoulder instead of neck. The man kicked Fili squarely in the hip, sending him to the dirt, and turned. He spotted Bilbo by the tree line and began running for him.

Though the fight was almost over, everybody was busy. Dori and Ori were taking down an axe-wielding menace who almost took off Nori’s head, Kili and Thorin a pair of swordsmen, and the others were surrounding another three who had yet to fall.

It was in this moment that Bilbo realized he was truly on his own in this.

He was down to his last knife, and thus hesitated in throwing away his only weapon. He was, for the first time in that fight, afraid—and frozen in indecision.

Fifty yards away, Kili spun his wrist in a circle, throwing the bandit’s sword from his hand. Without missing a beat, he sliced through the man’s knees making him fall, and then finished him off with a quick beheading. The other instantly became sloppy in seeing his comrade fall, allowing Thorin to find an opening and stab him in the side, then through the face as he howled in pain. Fili screamed out, “Bilbo!” and Thorin’s blood froze as he saw his nephew’s adversary sprinting for their hobbit, silver protruding from his back.

Fili’s voice pulled Bilbo out of his indecision. He could see the furious eyes of the man twice his height and he waited, arm poised with his knife at the ready, until they were twelve, ten, five feet away—then he threw his last blade.

It flew, to stick firmly into the man’s forehead with a sickening wet _thunk._ The man’s eyes rolled back but his body continued forward; there was barely enough time for Bilbo to squeak before he was taken down by it.

He heard a roaring in his mind, a furious _“NO!”_ that shook him to the core. He tried to push against the dead body but it was too heavy, pinning him in place. Blood was pouring onto him, and he realized that Fili must have slit the man’s chest. In any other circumstances Bilbo would have been impressed by such a pain tolerance; as it was, he was panicking. Blood was soaking through his clothes, and his breath was limited by the heavy weight on his chest.

A loud trampling of the underbrush announced Thorin’s presence even before his voice. “Bilbo!” he yelled, spotting the man’s dead body. Bilbo gave a heave, and Thorin realized he was _under_ the man. With a snarl he grabbed the dead man’s shoulder and threw him to the side, revealing a wide-eyed hobbit covered in blood.

 _“Bilbo,”_ he whispered, sliding a hand under the hobbit’s back to lift him into a half-sitting position and using the other to pat for wounds. Inexplicably, there were no tears or breaks in his clothing, just _blood._

“I’m not—not hurt,” Bilbo panted. “Fell on me—kept bleeding—could barely breathe.”

Thorin’s breath left him as the hobbit spoke, relief rolling through him and into his companion. He leaned down and kissed him, and Bilbo replied strongly, both reassuring themselves that the other was alright.

After, Thorin stood and pulled Bilbo to his feet. The dwarf leaned over and pulled the blade from the man’s head, wiping it on his coat before handing it to Bilbo. The hobbit nodded at him, and they walked back towards the company and Gandalf, Thorin’s hand never leaving his lower back. The company was frisking the bandits and taking any money or valuables they found. Bilbo looked for glints of silver and found his knives, not buried in a bandit, but in Gandalf’s hand.

“That was quite the show, my dear Bilbo.” He grasped the hobbit’s shoulder, ignoring the slight baring of teeth from Thorin—the dwarf had yet to leave the hobbit’s side, or remove his hand from Bilbo’s back. The wizard knew what was happening to the pair, even if they were hilariously oblivious to it themselves.

Bilbo looked up at Thorin, who was still glaring down Gandalf. The hobbit pulled away gently, keeping a hand on Thorin’s bicep. He muttered a few word to the dwarf, and after a frown, the larger male had walked into camp to see Fili and Kili.

Bilbo turned to Gandalf, and that was when he finally lost the battle to keep his dinner. He collapsed to his knees and puked, unable to stomach the fact that he had killed sentient beings, no matter how horrible they had been. Ori was by his side in a second (much to Gandalf’s surprise), murmuring quiet words and rubbing his back as the remains of his soup came up.

He didn’t see Thorin’s head jerk his way. The only thing holding the dwarf back was that he could _feel_ Bilbo didn’t want him near.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” Bilbo choked, sitting up and wiping his mouth with his shirt.

“No, Bilbo, don’t be. We all react like this when we kill for the first time,” Ori said, cutting off Gandalf. The wizard rolled his eyes in good humor – clearly, his assistance was unneeded. The redhead then leaned down to whisper in the hobbit’s ear. “I have it on good authority that Mister Dwalin reacted quite strongly himself.”

Bilbo looked up at him, brows high in surprise, and Ori winked. The hobbit gave a weak grin in response, and allowed Ori to haul him to his feet.

Within minutes the camp was packed up, and everyone was back on their ponies. Despite it being night, no one felt safe staying there. Gandalf agreed to lead the group and illuminate the way with his staff. He was sure they would not become lost, and that was enough for Thorin. As they rode into the night, Bilbo took a final look at the death they had wrought, and was glad to feel nothing—they had threatened him and his friends, and they paid the price.

The hobbit noticed an odd feeling, much like the feeling you get when you drink whiskey, except it was only in his chest.

Little did he know, it came from how proud Thorin was of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MYGOSH, I am so blown away!!! So many kudos, bookmarks, and lovely comments! Thank you so much! :) If y'all would like to see anything, let me know! I am open to requests! :)  
> If you haven't caught it yet, feelings of "cold water," "tug in his gut," and other things of that nature are from the bond. And would you look at that, Thorin's being protective ;)
> 
> “E arzimthi...Astu zu khebabmudtê.” - Basically translates to, "I believe...You are my heartforge" ( basically he's saying, "I think you are my heartforge" but I felt the word for Believe would work better  
> "kurkarukê" - Little raven
> 
> Khuzdul taken from tumblr, found on my phone (and lost there as well), so apologies for no source.


	7. Trolls!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trolls!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your lovely comments and kudos! They keep me going :)  
> Beta'd by the wonderful ArielT, as always.

The remainder of the night and most of the next day were spent riding. All the dwarves were beyond exhausted by a few hours past noon, and Thorin stopped them after Kili fell asleep—and right off of his pony. Bilbo had found himself asleep soon after thanks to Gandalf, who graciously agreed to take first, second, and third watch all by himself. That he mysteriously needed far less sleep than them was left unsaid, as all were far past ready to collapse.

When they woke at dawn the next day, the rain had begun.

It was a miserable excuse for weather, either sheets of rain barreling down upon them, or such humid, hot moments that they all secretly thanked the rain for returning. Bilbo spent most of his time speaking with Ori during those days, when there was speech to be had. Bofur had made it his personal mission to be his brother’s keeper—since Bombur had some sort of cold—and thus didn’t speak much with the scribe and burglar. It was only at night that the hobbit was able to talk to their leader, and most nights passed as such: Bilbo sat close, huddled with Thorin under his cloak (which was normally off of the dwarf and laid over a few well-placed sticks or rocks for shelter) and traded stories of their lives before the quest. This night was a bit over two weeks after they left Bree.

Thorin’s eyes gleamed as he spoke of Erebor, recalling the most notable adventures of his youth before the dragon came.

“You did not!” Bilbo cackled, unable to remove the mental image of Dwalin with _pink nails_ for goodness sake. Thorin chucked, a deep noise that reverberated through Bilbo from where he was pressed against the dwarf’s side, Thorin’s arm a welcome weight across his shoulders.

“Aye, we did. He nearly had Frerin’s spotty beard for it.” They took another moment to laugh, Bilbo shaking his head in awe and amusement at the _gall_ the dwarflings must have had. “Dis though, she’s the one you wanted to watch out for. Frerin might have painted your nails, but Dis would be far more…” he paused, leaning his head from one side to the other in thought. “Well, let’s just say, she was much more of the cloak-and-dagger type.”

“Oh?” Bilbo nuzzled into Thorin’s neck, enjoying the warmth that bloomed across his skin like morning glories at dawn, the feeling as soft as dew covering the earth and light fog saturating the air.

“Oh yes. I recall quite _vividly_ the first—and last—time that someone ever decided to mess with her favorite brother.”

“Was that you?”

“Of course.”

They shared a small laugh before Thorin continued, a slight frown appearing.

“There was a group of Blacklock merchants staying in Erebor, and we headed down to the market to see their wares. I split from my siblings and guards at some point, as I had just reached twenty the previous winter and no longer required an escort. I believe I was your equivalent of a…” he hesitated, unsure of the word.

“Pre-tween?” Bilbo helpfully supplied, removing his face from Thorin’s neck and leaning his head against the dwarf’s shoulder instead. “When you’ve just reached that gangly age we all suffer through?” Thorin grinned and laid his jaw against Bilbo’s damp curls, head tilted slightly as he watched the dim forest.

“Aye, that age. My beard was short at the time, little more than the stubble I was born with, truth be told. It is not uncommon, and yet a Blacklock lad of forty decided that no true son of Durin would have such a short beard at any point in life. He… may have insinuated that I was a bastard.”

Bilbo whistled low, and then spoke with a sarcastic lit to his voice. “I’m sure that went down _wonderfully._ ”

Thorin nodded as much as he could with the hobbit’s head beneath his chin. “I’m sure you can imagine.” He huffed in amusement. “Didn’t help that he decided to stand on a fountain and announce it to all around, either.”

“He _didn’t_!” Bilbo was actually shocked. “Was he that confident or that stupid?”

“Stupid. Dis heard him, and two nights later he woke in his room, pitch black and covered in cockroaches.” Both of them physically shuddered at the thought. “Oh, and his door was barred with some odd rune.” He smirked. “Took them _hours_ to let him out.”

Thorin smiled at the memory of his sister’s revenge, and Bilbo laughed. “Bet he learned that day, eh?”

“Oh yes. I expect he never did return to Erebor, and of course no one would have pointed a finger at the _innocent_ daughter of Thrain.” Bilbo could practically _hear_ the moonstone eyes roll. “She was Melkor incarnate, and don’t let anyone tell you different.”

Bilbo huffed in amusement, though his mind suddenly registered something. He pulled back, turning his eyes to Thorin as he did so.

“His room was blocked by a rune?”

Thorin froze, becoming rigid. Bilbo could see him working his jaw, and the hobbit shook his hand as it suddenly fell asleep.

“Thorin?” Then he caught on. “Oh, I see. Another secret.” His scholarly mind was curious, turning over _just how in middle earth_ one managed to block a room with a written letter, when he remembered the song that decided his fate in joining the quest. “Rune magic, right?”

Thorin’s head swiveled so fast that Bilbo worried for his neck. “Tell me how you know that!” His tone was accusing and commanding, that of a noble to a lesser, and Bilbo was quite frankly irritated by it. He was miffed, and it showed. He crossed his arms, frowning.

“Your bloody song told me. You know, the one that convinced me to join this insane quest of yours to begin with?”

Thorin withdrew his arm and mirrored Bilbo’s pose by crossing them.

“If this is so _insane_ to you, Master Baggins, perhaps you should break ties and run off to your comfy home while you still can.”

Bilbo glared. “Oh, so now I’m back to ‘Master Baggins?’”

“A few stories and stolen moments do not a bond make.”

The words were out before Thorin could think, a knee-jerk reaction to having the heart-worth of his homeland insulted. Bilbo’s face twisted and Thorin grabbed his own chest, in that moment realizing how _insanely wrong_ he was.

“Bilbo,” he tried, reaching for the other man, but his quarry shoved him away and stood.

“Right. Well. Thanks for setting _that_ straight. And here I was, thinking… thinking….” He glared at the surrounding area, running a shaking hand through his already soaked curls in frustration, before stomping back to camp in the pouring rain.

“Don’t follow me! I don’t want to hear your false apologies!” he called sharply over his shoulder, aware that Thorin was beginning to stand.

Thorin dropped back to the ground with a grunt, dropping his weight against the boulder at his back. He tilted his head up and glared at his cloak as if it was able to back up time and refused just to spite him.

 _False apologies indeed!_ He sighed, glaring at the forest instead of his cloak, and resigned himself to keeping watch alone for the rest of the quest.

****

Thorin was pissed. And when Thorin was pissed, the company was miserable.

No one knew who had shit in his rucksack (a phrase Bilbo had merely shaken his head at), but clearly something was up. It was also interesting that their hobbit was avoiding Thorin like a plague, not even deigning a look in his direction. After two days of this (which were ironically worse than the wet weeks before, since the rain had finally relented after their argument) Nori decided to figure out what was going on. An angry Thorin meant an angry Dwalin, and Mahal _help_ him if his dwarf snapped at him one more time. The ‘him’ needing Mahal’s help being Dwalin, of course, because the former guardsman would find Nori’s knife at his throat if he continued. _Just like old times,_ the thief thought with an eye roll.

 “Master Baggins.”

The hobbit jerked and nearly fell right out of his saddle, as he had somehow not noticed the thief sneaking up next to him. Interestingly, Nori’s pony was a stealthy little thing as well, jet black with a few dots of white around the forehead.

“You know to call me Bilbo.” It was a statement, not a question. The hobbit glared at him, and Nori held in a long-suffering sigh, counting backwards from ten silently.

“Bilbo, yes. Would you mind explaining to me what occurred between you and our _brooding, fearless_ leader? He’s nigh insufferable, which, if you haven’t _taken a moment to notice,_ means that we _all_ take the brunt of it.” He didn’t mention Dwalin, though he figured the hobbit had an idea when bright blue eyes shot in the direction of the rugged guard. When Bilbo continued to do nothing but glare and shift uncomfortably, Nori rolled his eyes.

“Lovers’ quarrel?”

Bilbo jerked, and Nori was pleased to see he had finally gotten a rise out of their burglar.

“Lovers?” Bilbo snorted, and Nori offhandedly noticed that it was a much softer noise than the snorts of men and dwarves. “No, I should think not. If you want to know _why_ he’s being insufferable, ask _him._ ” He waved a hand at Thorin’s back, far ahead and in front of the others.

Nori closed his eyes and prayed to Mahal for strength.

“Do you think we haven’t tried? Every time we try, he becomes angrier. Trust when I say this is stemming from a hurt. Dwalin—and therefore, I—know him well enough to tell the difference.”

He was surprised when all the fight left the hobbit, and he seemed to deflate, shoulders slumping and head bowing. His voice was defeated when he finally spoke after a long minute.

“He… he told me to go home. To cut ties with the company. After—! Well… I shouldn’t say. It isn’t my place.”

Nori raised an eyebrow.

“After… what?” He could sniff out a story a mile away, and there was _definitely_ more to this than Bilbo was letting on. His mind wandered to the bet list currently in his pocket.

“Just... he said something else that was incredibly hurtful, but I will not repeat it.”

The dwarf scoffed. “You’re telling me that this is because Thorin decided to go off and be a royal prat?”

“Essentially. He acted like he was going to apologize for a moment, but I told him I didn’t want to hear it.”

Nori was stunned silent for a few moments, before he spoke very slowly.

“Bilbo… what did you say _exactly?_ ”

The hobbit looked at him as if he was acting odd, before shrugging.

“I told him I didn’t want to hear his false apologies.”

The thief gasped with a pained expression, and Dwalin twisted around in his saddle. Nori quickly threw up a shield around the thoughts and sent a hurried _later_ to the rugged dwarf, who glared. _Later indeed,_ Dwalin sent as he turned to face his king once more.

Bilbo frowned, uncomprehending as he looked between Nori and Dwalin.

“What? What is it?”

It took a few more moments, but then Nori was nudging his pony closer to Bilbo and looking furtively at the company, as if one of them might overhear him. His voice was low as he spoke.

“Look, I don’t know how it is with hobbits. But when it comes to dwarves, apologies are considered extremely important, and to be taken with utmost seriousness, the _only_ exception being if it is clearly in a jesting situation. To say—“ He cut off. “ _Bilbo,_ ” he sighed, shaking his head. “To call his apologies false and refuse to hear them, implies that you do not believe he has _honor_ enough to be truthful with you. It is a grievous insult among our kind, and you should _know_ how seriously the Sons of Durin take honor—especially _Thorin,_ for Mahal’s sake. I don’t know what he said that upset you, but you should have—and still should—hear him out at least, even if you don’t accept what he has to say.”

Bilbo was staring at Thorin’s back in pained exasperation, which grew as another thought fluttered across his mind. He winced.

“I… I may have also—in the heat of the moment mind you!” —here he pointed a finger at Nori—“I didn’t mean it, I was upset.“ He returned to his tired (and now worried) state: “I may have called this quest insane.”

Nori slammed another shield down around his mind and buried his face in his palms as he did so.

“For the love of _Mahal,_ Bilbo, you might as well have cut off his beard, what little remains!” he quietly hissed, though the volume did not remove any of the stress from it.

Once again, their burglar looked confused. Nori hoped it wouldn’t be a state the burglar would be in often, considering how promising he had been so far.

“I don’t understand.”

The star-haired dwarf rolled his eyes. “No, of course not. Do you know _why_ Thorin’s beard is so short?” The hobbit shook his head and Nori sighed. “To have a very short beard - as a fully-grown male - means that you have committed an act of great shame. He keeps it short because he is _shamed_ that he and his line have yet to reclaim Erebor. Mahal, Bilbo, what _did_ that blasted wizard tell you?”

Bilbo’s mind stopped. Gears grinded to a halt, and the occasional spring flew out of place as his brain tried—and failed—to process the new information, in conjunction with what he had said to Thorin. _Thorin cuts his beard because… oh. Oh dear._

(Interestingly, that “Blasted wizard” was currently in a _slightly_ _too_ _enthusiastic_ conversation with Dori about wine and cheese pairings.)

“N-nothing, really,” Bilbo stuttered, looking overcome. “Just that there was a quest, and I should prepare for thirteen dwarves. Everything else I know, I learned from you.” He gestured to the company.

Nori swore, before staring down the wizard with a glare that _may_ _or may not_ have killed lesser beings in the past. He then turned back to Bilbo and his voice was low, with a hint of danger if his words were not heeded.

“Tonight, you will go to him, and _you will apologize._ ”

Bilbo nodded but knew that for things to go back to how they were, he wouldn’t be the only one apologizing.

 _Neither of us were in the right_ he thought, mentally shaking his head.

**************

Of course, things are never that simple.

By night-time, their travels had taken them over a river, which Bilbo was thankful to see had a strong, stone bridge crossing it. He was nervous about traversing it (as he and most other hobbits sank like a stone when they attempted to swim at all), but it was set mostly aside by his preoccupation with his thoughts.

Five minutes later, Bilbo sighed as his pony’s hooves touched solid ground once more.

 _I wish I had known… but still, it doesn’t excuse him for_ —

His thoughts were interrupted when Bombur’s pony reared, dropping the large dwarf onto the ground and bolting _straight into the bloody river._ Bofur cried out and jumped down to his brother’s side while Fili and Kili shoved their ponies’ reins to Dwalin and Nori before chasing after the damned thing.

Bilbo nearly fell off his pony when feelings with the strength of a mountain slammed into his side. There were so many that there was not one sensation but a hundred small ones, and in an instant they were gone again, as if they had never existed in the first place. Bilbo shook his head and held his chest, where a deep ache had been growing for days.

He was brought back into the moment when Fili and Kili returned with the runaway pony, looking sad and shaking their heads. The company started to grumble when they quickly realized that, as it was Bombur’s pony, it held virtually _all_ of their food. Or at least, _had_ held their food.

Two hours and a loud argument between Thorin and Gandalf, which ended in the wizard leaving for a while _(“We need food and supplies!” “I will not look to the_ Elves _for assistance!”)_ , left their leader (and thus all the dwarves) irritated and exhausted.

They were all pacing around their decided campsite, arguing about what to do without food, when Balin noticed a twinkling atop the hill across from them.

Two more arguments later it was decided with the singular, “Well, there are _fourteen_ of us.”

Leaving their ponies by the camp, they crept closer until they were within earshot of voices around a campfire. It was here that Thorin took hold of Bilbo’s shoulder, and pointed towards the light.

“We have come this far, but we need to know if they are friend or foe. Scout ahead and return if you can. If not, hoot twice like a barn owl and once like a screech owl!” He then pushed Bilbo forward. The hobbit nodded and headed towards the fire, slightly crouched and walking silently through the trees. It was after he had nearly reached the fire when he realized he could hoot like neither breed of owl, and rolled his eyes. _Dwarves._

Still he continued, creeping forward. It was then he heard them, complaining loudly about running out of drink and being tired of mutton.

 _This is a lovely chance!_ Bilbo thought, creeping around the trolls so he was behind them. _I can prove myself a burglar indeed. Goodness knows troll pockets are always interesting, and I am out of practice._

Everything was going well until he finally lifted the purse and it— _the purse!_ —squeaked at him: “‘Ere, ‘oo are you?!”

The troll he had lifted it from turned and grabbed Bilbo by the neck before he could so much as blink in response.

“Blimey, Bert! Look what I’ve copped!”

“What is it?” asked the other two, walking up in curiosity.

“Lumme, if I knows! What are yer?”

“Bilbo Baggins, a bur-a hobbit!” he almost shouted ‘hobbit’, having nearly told them that he was a burglar. He wondered how to make owl noises, but he was now being halfway throttled by the troll and air was hard to come by.

“A burrahobbit?”

 _They’re too thick and not from around these parts,_ Bilbo realized suddenly, seeing yellow dance around the edge of his vision. _I can work with this._

“Yes,” Bilbo squeaked.

“Are ye a type ‘o rabbit?” asked Bert, waving this large spoon in the hobbit’s direction, particularly his feet.

“N-no, but I can cook well if you spare me!”

Turns out, Bilbo didn’t have to work with anything in the end, because his troll captor began to loosen his grip. “’Oi, let’s let the lil blighter go. I ‘ad enough to eat already.”

As he, Bert, and the third troll began discussing whether or not it would be worth searching around for others of his kind (kindly forgetting that they could just _ask_ the burrahobbit in their grasp), Bilbo began to consider experimenting with hooting noises with his remaining oxygen. Just before he went for it, nearly unconscious and losing sight, a lovely row began over something he must have missed.

The trolls were throwing fists and falling over each other, rolling near to the fire. He was forgotten in their haste - dropped to the ground - and so he immediately bolted for the trees, stumbling as he went and giving the trolls a wide berth. He was running for all he was worth - which wasn’t much at that point. He barely made a noise though he wasn't trying to be quiet at all.

It wasn’t much longer until he ran smack in Fili. The dwarven prince yelled in surprise, as he (nor anyone else, for that matter) had heard Bilbo coming. They tumbled over each other a few times before landing solidly on the ground, Bilbo panting heavily in the night.

“We have _got_ to stop running into each other like this,” the blond dwarf huffed with humor. Without replying, Bilbo was on his feet and crossing over to Thorin, grabbing the dwarf’s unarmored elbow. He was sweating, eyes wide and essentially black from lack of light entering them, screaming _panic_ in every possible way.

“Trolls!” He gasped, voice raspy and wrecked from his previous throttling. He was leaning over somewhat, trying to catch his breath. “They caught me—the bloody purse _talked,_ _why_ in the—the name of the Valar—can a _purse talk?!”_

Balin came over and took Bilbo’s shoulder in hand. “Breathe, laddie. What happened?”

Then they saw it, Balin and Thorin, at the same time. Thorin let out a quiet, strangled noise that was lost amongst the quiet, hurried chattering of his company. Had they not been dwarves, the marks would have been invisible in the dim moonlight.

“Your neck,” he breathed, gently reaching up and touching the deep purple stripes that were beginning to bloom.

Bilbo brushed his hand away impatiently. “Yes, it hurts. Yes, I’m fine.” He turned his head to Balin, wincing as he did so. “We have to get out of here. They could come this way any minute!”

Thorin and Balin looked at each other, then back to Bilbo. It was Thorin who spoke. “Did they have food?”

Bilbo made a face. “In their stomachs.”

Groaning accompanied his words, and the quiet chatter grew louder. Balin looked to his leader.

“Thorin, we can’t leave them here. Goodness knows how many travelers and families they’ve killed already.”

The dwarf was beginning to argue with Balin when Bilbo had an idea. He slipped away, grabbing Ori and describing a plant he was looking for. While the dwarves argued, they searched the underbrush. Five or so minutes later, they found what he was looking for.

“This is nightlock,” he explained to Ori. “One berry is enough to kill a faunt, five are enough to kill a ranger. If I split this pile between their ale, they’ll be dead within minutes!”

The scribe looked at him with astonishment. “That is impressive. How do you expect to do it, though? Won’t they see you?”

Bilbo shook his head. “No, I expect not. Trolls aren’t very bright, especially this lot. And their drinks are mostly away from the fire. I can do it.”

The redhead nodded, accepting the plan as a good one. He grabbed Bilbo’s arm when the hobbit began to walk off in the dark. “Wait! Shouldn’t you tell the others where you’re headed?”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “And have them stop me? I don’t think so.” He wagged his finger back and forth. “Thorin doesn’t want to deal with them at all. But I can’t stomach the guilt that some poor sod died because I was a coward.” He shook his head, lips twisting into a mockery of a smile. “Besides, he’s not _my_ king, now is he?”

The scribe shook his head but let his friend go off into the dark. He trusted him to take care of himself. He watched Bilbo until his outline faded into the darkness.

Ori walked back to the company and went up to Nori. “Bilbo went off to poison the trolls,” he said with a sigh. Nori just raised an eyebrow and sent a thought to Dwalin, who furrowed his brow and walked over to Thorin to share the news.

Ten minutes later found Bilbo hiding behind a tree, watching the trolls as they finally slumped over, to never move again. Ironically, this was also the moment that the company came charging into the camp, weapons out and ready for a fight.

They froze, one by one as they saw the dead trolls.

Bilbo giggled a bit as he stepped out from behind his tree and silently padded into the light, a wide smile on his face. A few of the dwarves jerked at seeing him, as he had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. A few even laughed as they quickly realized what he had done.

“Search the camp,” Thorin commanded the company, keeping his gaze fixed on the hobbit. “I need to have words with our _burglar._ ” He then strode forward, walking past Bilbo and into the night. Bilbo winked at a proud, smiling Ori, before falling into step with the king.

They made it just far enough away to be out of earshot when Thorin rounded on him.

“What were you thinking? They could have caught you _again_!”

Bilbo leveled a glare at Thorin and put his hands on his hips. “I killed them though, didn’t I? Shouldn’t you be congratulating me, or, I don’t know, _thanking_ me?”

The dwarf spun around, running a hand roughly through his raven tresses and taking a few steps away, before turning back to the hobbit and grinding his teeth in silence.

When Thorin continued not speaking, Bilbo sighed and shrugged before asking, “What does it matter? You were fine with me fighting men. What’s a few dumb trolls compared to that? And I wasn’t even fighting them, just poisoning.”

Finally, Thorin broke. “Because you were alone!” he practically shouted, before catching himself. “Bilbo, you… you could have _died_ tonight. You should have said something, told us so we could wait in the dark and run in to distract them if they saw you. Scouting is one thing, but actively going into the light?” He shook his head, staring at the ground. Then he spoke quietly, taking a step towards Bilbo, eyes clear and seeking the other’s. “I am sorry for the other night. I was out of line. But I want you to know that you said….” He shifted his eyes to the ground, pausing briefly, having trouble with his words. “You said this quest was insane, which I shouldn’t have cared much about since I’ve heard it before,” he rubbed his short beard and shook his head. “…but hearing it from _you_ of all people…It… hurt, Bilbo.” The word ‘hurt’ was said oddly, as if it wasn’t a word his mouth was familiar with. He didn’t look up, though, only closed his eyes.

Bilbo’s soft voice floated up to meet him. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have said that, and I… I know now, what I said when I called your attempted apology false. I lashed out as well.”

Thorin looked up suddenly, finding Bilbo a few strides closer from where he was standing earlier. “You didn’t know at the time?”

Bilbo shook his head, curls bouncing slightly as he looked to the ground and up again. “No.”

“You are forgiven.”

It was so quick and simple, yet a weight seemed to lift off of Bilbo. Still… “You...” He paused and frowned sadly, putting up a finger before clenching his fist and lowering it to hang loosely at his side. “You said that…” He looked to the dwarf with a look that was equal parts meaningful, unsure, and hurt.

The words echoed unspoken between them: _A few stories and stolen moments do not a bond make._

Thorin spoke after a few moments of silence, meeting Bilbo’s eyes with a sadness that made the dwarf appear far older than his age. “I was wrong. Very, very wrong. I will do whatever it takes to redeem myself to you, if you would be accepting of it.”

Thorin kept his eyes on Bilbo, barely blinking, waiting nervously for an answer no matter which one he received.

And it was Mahal’s honest truth that Thorin would do _anything_ , because he _knew_. He had _felt_ the agony he caused his friend and had been even angrier with himself because he _knew_ it had begun due to his foolish, quick temper. He _knew_ that this handsome creature was the other half of him, even if it had taken him a frankly ridiculous amount of time to realize it. Most dwarves recognized their Ones within the same day of meeting, but it had taken him weeks.

Thorin closed his eyes and prayed silently that his apology would be accepted and that he would be allowed to make amends; but no words came from Bilbo.

Just as he began to give up, soft lips and a warm body pressed against his.

****

That night Bilbo slept with Thorin’s back to his, as they had done before their fight. Fili was in front of Bilbo, and Kili in front of Thorin. This was their arrangement for the next two nights, until they caught sight of an inn just off the road.

As hungry as they all were, it was with great gladness that Thorin immediately directed them to it and announced that they would be staying there for the night. There were only two beds per room here, and thus everybody split up evenly. Fili and Kili took their own, sending a wink to Bilbo, as clearly the two were glad to give them some time alone.

(Neither had forgotten the morning in Bree—and honestly, how could they? The next morning in Bree they had given Nori their bets, and the thief had raised an eyebrow at the early timing (before the Misty Mountains) but accepted it, figuring it was probably going to be a win for him. Little did he know what had been occurring over his very head.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get a long-awaited rating change next chapter ;) Along with quite a lot of dwarven magic! I'm world building, guys!


	8. The Bond is Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note the rating change!!! Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the incredible ArielT, who always manages to make my day.  
> I would strongly suggest listening to "Desire" by Meg Myers (Hucci Remix) during the smut, along with "Addicted to You" by Avicii.

The baths were pure torture for Thorin. He and Bilbo had been sharing passionate kisses (that more often than not ended with Bilbo in his lap) since Bree, and now he had to be around him _naked._ Normally this would be a blessing, but there was the problem of the rest of the company _also_ being there. He tried his best to not peek, but it was extremely difficult to ignore Bilbo when the hobbit set to scrubbing his foot, setting it up on the edge of the tub and _bending over_ directly across from Thorin, ten feet away. Actually, make that _less_ than ten feet.

Finally, after what felt like hours, they finished and headed to their rooms. Fili and Kili had already distributed everyone’s packs, and Bilbo was amused to find that they had put him and Thorin in the same room.

“We’ll be next door.” Kili winked, more than happy to give his friend and uncle time alone. Fili muttered something that was most likely unsavory under his breath, and Bilbo rolled his eyes before pushing open the door to find Thorin wearing a light tunic he had donned after the baths and looking through his pack.

The hobbit had lost weight since they had left the Shire; Bilbo picked at his loose clothes a bit as he made his way to the bed nearest the door, making a mental note to see if Dori could help tailor them to his now smaller size. Lost in thought, he sat on the bed—and nearly had a heart-attack when Thorin touched his back, not having heard the dwarf approaching.

“We need to talk.”

Bilbo looked up at him and nodded, turning so he was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed. Thorin mirrored his position, facing the hobbit and the headboard. Their knees touched.

“So,” Bilbo said with a smile. Thorin nodded. This was the hard part, explaining to Bilbo what exactly he had gotten himself into.

“I want you to understand what you are beginning, with me, before we continue.”

Bilbo hummed and gestured Thorin to keep going. The dwarven king licked his lips before continuing, nervous as to how Bilbo would react. _It would not be the first or last time someone rejected a bond._ Thorin, never one to sugarcoat potentially bad news, spit it out.

“We’re bonding.”

The hobbit tilted his head, still smiling but with a raised eyebrow in an expression that seemed to say, ‘And your point is?’

“That… doesn’t bother you?” Thorin asked, relieved.

Bilbo laughed quietly, then leaned forward to twine their fingers together. “Not at all. I had my guesses of course.” He shrugged. “My mother talked about her bond with my father quite a bit when I was a tween, and I was beginning to gather that that was what _we_ are experiencing. Then there’s this.”

He held up their entwined fingers before moving Thorin’s hands and laying them palm-up against the dwarf’s knees. He released them and ran the tip of his index finger from the base of Thorin’s palm to the tip of his middle finger, leaving a bloom of heat with his touch. He then looked Thorin in the eye as he continued stroking his hand, going from base of the palm to the tip of every finger, watching the moonstone constrict to a gorgeous shade of sky blue as his pupils dilated further with every intimate stroke.

“It is the fire-touch,” Thorin answered gently and without prompting. “With you, it has been a soothing warmth instead of a brand. Something akin to basking in sunlight.”

Bilbo blushed as he replied, not having expected something similar to poetry from Thorin. “I’ve also noticed that when you’re surprised by something, I feel like cold water has been poured down my back.”

Thorin reached out with the hand Bilbo was not attending and brought the hobbit’s unoccupied hand to his lips, eyes smoky in the lamplight from the bedside table. “Aye,” he murmured against his burglar’s fingers. “And what do you feel when I want you?” He kissed Bilbo’s knuckles, tongue darting out for a moment, and had the distinct pleasure of seeing cobalt blue virtually disappear into pools of black. They both felt a caress across their abdomens. Bilbo broke the moment by lunging forward and pushing Thorin down onto the bed to straddle the dwarf’s hips.

Inches away, they stared into each other’s eyes. “You tell me,” Bilbo said, his voice thick with want. “I’ve told you two things I feel, but you—” He ground his hips against Thorin’s and smirked when the dwarf let out a groan. “—have yet to tell me a single thing _you_ feel.”

Thorin looked up at him, raven hair spread out as a crown, eyes wide and pupils blown. He was breathing more quickly, unable and unwilling to hide anything. Bilbo was the one person in all of Arda that he could do this with, and he _would_ take this liberty. Even kings were allowed love and its joys, after all.

“When you want me,” he said, voice low and deep, “it feels as if you are stroking across my stomach, or touching my arse.” Thorin’s words were clipped, his accent thicker than usual. “It _is_ you,” he added, “And I believe you’ve felt the same things as well.” He took his turn and moved up against Bilbo, pushing their cocks together. A shot of heat flew through them from the touch, and any sense of words disappeared from Thorin’s grasp. His eyelids dropped, hooded, and he gripped Bilbo’s hips.

Bilbo felt the hotness of his lover’s touch and _tried_ to not whimper as Thorin moved their hips together in a pleasing, slow rhythm. Needless to say, he failed. They watched each other, basking in their affection, until Bilbo decided to lie across the dwarf’s chest and kiss him. At first touch his lips were firm, then a tongue touched his lips and he opened willingly, moaning as Thorin sucked on his tongue, licking the underside as he did so, spinning around it a few times.

He was dazed when Thorin pulled back from the long kiss, speaking in a clipped, accented voice lower than Bilbo had ever heard.

“That is how I would suck your cock as I open you, ghivashel, should you allow it.” Bilbo moaned, wanting _exactly that,_ and thrust against Thorin even as the dwarf released his hips in favor of his palming his arse. “Do you feel what you do to me?” he growled, sucking the tip of Bilbo’s ear, then licking the edge of his ear cuff with his tongue. Bilbo moaned, his ears extremely sensitive. “We are still clothed, and yet I am losing my control already.”

When Bilbo reached between them to press against the hard outline of Thorin’s cock, the dwarf cursed in Khuzdul and grabbed Bilbo’s wrist in a light hold that set them both on fire. He struggled with Westron as he spoke low.

“You know not what you do.” Bilbo’s eyes met his, thin cobalt rings around black pools, and he bit his lip as the hobbit arched an eyebrow.

“Thorin, even a _virgin_ would know what I’m doing.” Bilbo leaned down and moved their hands out of the way, entwining them as they came to a stop beside the dwarven king’s head and against his hair. The hobbit pushed their foreheads together before he spoke breathily. “I need you, Thorin.” He punctuated his words with a roll of his hips, and Thorin made a noise of approval. “I feel something in my bones, something that feels… ancient.”

Thorin trailed his free hand from the hobbit’s arse, up his side, and cupped his cheek.

“That is because it is, Bilbo. It is the magic of my people, the magic that rests in us from birth and awakens only when it finds the catalyst.” He stared deep into the hobbit’s eyes, and the smaller male shivered as a wave of heat passed from Thorin’s body to his. “A key is just metal without a lock. A lock cannot be opened without a key. _You are the key._ Do you understand now, what we are awakening? Lying together will open and bond us, not just for tonight, but for life.”

Bilbo’s eyes were wide, mouth slightly open. He captured Thorin’s mouth in a searing kiss, before lying fully across the dwarf and whispering in his ear, “Then let us love.” He gently bit Thorin’s earlobe, licking over it to soothe and speaking in a low voice, _“Let us become one.”_

Thorin snapped, lifting the hobbit by the hips, and Bilbo gasped as he bounced off the bed. Thorin was over him, sucking his jaw, down his neck and nipping at the skin, laving his tongue over the sensitive bites as he went. He ground into Bilbo, hands trying—and failing—to undo the buttons of his vest

 _“Off,”_ he growled, not pausing in his ministrations.

Bilbo obliged, undoing buttons faster than he had in his life. Thorin found a particularly sensitive spot in the crook of his neck just as he tweaked a pointed ear, and the blond ripped the bottom two open without a care. He pushed his chest forward against Thorin’s, and Thorin moved back so Bilbo could remove his jacket and vest in one movement.

Thorin pulled his tunic up and over his head before throwing it to floor. Bilbo threw his own undershirt off as well, leaving them both shirtless. His cock twitched as the hobbit drank in his broad shoulders, the dark hair that crossed his chest, flowing between his pectorals and disappearing in a thick line into his pants. Bilbo pressed his smaller hands against Thorin’s defined chest, moving down and across the skin. He flicked the steel barbells that went through the dwarf’s nipples, filing away a mental note to investigate those later, and _there it was_ — _silken fire_ , burning chest and hands equally.

“Gods,” Bilbo gasped, meeting Thorin’s eyes. “Firetouch?” Thorin nodded before pushing the hobbit down again, claiming his mouth in a dirty kiss that had Bilbo whimpering. Without warning Thorin pulled back and sucked hard on Bilbo’s shoulder, thoroughly _loving_ the slick hairlessness of it. He made his way down the soft chest, sparing a moment for each nipple, then moving across a much smaller stomach than the hobbit had originally boasted. (Thorin made a mental note to ask Oin if the sudden weight loss was normal.) He reveled in the feeling of Bilbo’s hands twisting in his hair, keeping it out of his way.

It was here, above the drawstring of Bilbo’s pants, that he stopped, hot breath rolling across Bilbo’s lower stomach. He looked up and gripped the hobbit’s side tighter, pulling cobalt-black eyes to his own. Then he pulled open the drawstring with one hand, moved the fabric to the side, and held his eyes as he shifted the other to hold Bilbo down, hand splayed across his abs and fingertips resting just at his lower pectorals. He dipped down and licked across Bilbo’s iliac crease, the dip where his hip and legs connected, and Bilbo cried out, throwing his head back against the pillow and struggling against the hand holding him. Thorin smirked darkly and repeated the motion a few times, moving in circular patterns with his tongue and sucking after each. He pulled down the other side of the fabric and did the same to the other iliac crease. Bilbo was panting, cock twitching against Thorin’s chin.

Bilbo pulled his gaze down to Thorin when he asked something.

“What?” the hobbit moaned, Thorin’s thumbs still rubbing the sensitive skin.

The dwarf smirked and repeated himself. “More?”

Bilbo’s eyes widened and looked at the other as if he was insane. “For the love of Yavanna, _yes!_ ”

Thorin chuckled darkly and tapped the hobbit’s hip. Bilbo lifted them, and Thorin pulled off his pants and smalls in one smooth motion. He pulled off his own as well, and Bilbo’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline with a lusty look. Thorin was well-endowed, even amongst dwarves, thick and long in a way Bilbo had never seen. His uncut cock hung heavy, half of the pink head peeking out.

“That’s going in me?” he asked breathlessly, well aware that it would, and licked his lips at the challenge and the urge to have his lips around it.

Thorin raised an eyebrow and smirked while stroking himself, pleased at the way his lover was admiring his cock. His smirk grew even larger as he remembered something.

“Recall when we met?” he asked teasingly, still stroking himself slowly. “You with your quick tongue, accusing me of _overcompensating_ with my weapons?”

Bilbo’s mouth hung open slightly, cheeks reddening as he remembered. “Ah, yes, well,” he stammered, flustered. “Clearly, you were right to correct me.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow, smirk still firmly in place, eyes almost twinkling in the light. “Is that supposed to be an apology?”

Bilbo stared at him in disbelief. “You insulted me in my _own home_ within minutes of meeting me. It seemed odd that you would carry such large weapons, so I focused on that just as you focused on my appearance.” He reached down and gripped his own cock, when he paused and looked away in realization. Thorin’s body was solid in the way most dwarves were, muscles cut from years of work and travel, and his own was…not.

“Thorin…” he hesitated, and the smirk slipped away at the worry he felt from Bilbo. “You… _are_ attracted to me, right? Besides me being your One and thus being required to be, that is.”

Thorin was so stunned that he completely froze, body and mind.

“I—I know that I don’t have a beard, which is very unattractive,” Bilbo continued, focusing on the window-frame as his cheeks reddened. “And I’m not ridiculously muscular like you lot, either.”

Thorin laid down beside Bilbo, half covering him, and cupped his soft cheek.

“Bilbo, look at me.” Thorin’s voice was firm, but kind. Cobalt eyes turned to his, and Thorin kissed him gently before speaking. “I truly find you exquisite. Can you not feel that I speak true?”

Bilbo nodded, though he still was unsure.

Thorin smiled crookedly, remembering. “The first moment I set eyes on you, I was so absolutely _taken_ with you that I could not tear my eyes away, not for a moment.” He pushed their foreheads together and nuzzled Bilbo’s nose with his own. “I made a joke—and if you know me at all by now, you know that those do not happen often—to distract everyone from my real reaction to you. You are _exotic,_ ” He kissed his hobbit properly and was happy to feel it returned with gusto. He felt Bilbo’s length against his thigh and gently pushed into it, heating up the kiss even more.

They kissed a few minutes longer before Bilbo pulled back, closing his eyes and panting lightly.

“Apologies for being insecure. It won’t happen again.” He meant to add more about the many differences between dwarves and hobbits causing his worry, when Thorin’s tongue interrupted him. His eyes flew open as he felt a hot wetness encompass his length and _suck._

“Oh, Yavanna,” he moaned, threading his fingers through Thorin’s locks. _How did he_ — _without me noticing?_ A few more thoughts towards “decency” and “a king should not lower himself in this manner” ran through his mind before he _felt_ Thorin through their bond, _felt_ his arousal at performing this act for Bilbo, and the hobbit’s mind quieted and allowed him to enjoy the moment.

Thorin, for his part, was done with talking. Words only meant so much, no matter how pretty. Actions spoke much louder, and he was determined to prove _just how much_ he loved Bilbo’s body. His cock was impressive in its own right, especially among hobbits, and Thorin enjoyed the stretch of his jaw in servicing it.

Bilbo gripped at the sheets with one hand, twisting them tightly between his fingers, the other buried in Thorin’s hair, holding back one side so Bilbo could see him work. A few ringlets had fallen out of Bilbo’s grip and hung loosely.

Thorin sucked, licking side-to-side as he moved his mouth up. He took his time at the tip, licking around where it flared out above the shaft. When Bilbo was quivering, he relaxed his throat and took him _all_ the way in. Bilbo moaned brokenly at the feeling of Thorin’s throat muscles constricting around his cock as the dwarf swallowed. Thorin pulled back after an impressive fifteen seconds of this, needing air, but kept his lips around the solid length. Once he had it, he released his hold on Bilbo’s hip and met the hobbit’s eyes, giving him a ‘come hither’ motion with his fingers as he stilled around Bilbo’s length.

“Are you—are you sure?” Bilbo asked. Thorin raised an eyebrow in a ‘do not doubt me’ look. Bilbo was amazed that Thorin could manage to look so regal with his mouth around a cock, but then again, if anyone could pull it off, it _would_ be Thorin.

Bilbo began thrusting into his mouth at a slow pace that quickly increased when Thorin moaned and sucked around him encouragingly. It wasn’t long before Bilbo decided that he wanted _more_ than a mouth around him.

Thorin was taken by surprise when Bilbo sat up, propped on an elbow, and took his hand. He brought it to his lips with heat in his eyes, sucking one, then two, and finally three fingers into his mouth. Thorin groaned at the sight and feel of the hobbit’s quick tongue across his fingers. Finally Bilbo let them go with a light pop and reached over to the bedside table. He held out a flask of oil that Thorin took without hesitation, releasing Bilbo’s length and sitting up so he could properly slick his fingers. Bilbo scrambled off the bed and went to the one beside them to grab the pillow and resituate himself with it under his hips, smirking knowingly at Thorin.

Thorin pushed the cork back on and set it behind him, then went back to Bilbo’s cock. He mouthed at the tip, licking a few times, before letting it fall to the side. “Ready, amrâlimê?”

Bilbo nodded eagerly, and Thorin put a finger at his entrance. With one motion, he sucked down Bilbo and pushed into him, his lover whimpering in pleasure, teeth digging into his lip.

The burn was delicious, setting all of Bilbo’s nerves on fire. Thorin’s finger was thick inside him, possibly thicker than two of his own as it thrust in and out. His cock was being attended to with reverence, and those sky blue eyes stared up at him, watching him as he pushed up against Thorin’s other hand, once again holding him down.

“Thorin,” he panted, tightening his grip in the king’s hair, “give me m-more, I can take it—AH!” He cried out as Thorin instantly obliged, pushing in a second finger and crooking them together in the search for the spot that would send Bilbo spiraling in pleasure. Bilbo’s muscles were tight, body shaking as his lover pushed in and out, crooking and scissoring his fingers to stretch him while sucking his cock.

Then, without warning, Thorin hit the exact thing he had been looking for. Bilbo nearly screamed, just barely muffling it with his free hand, the other one pulling at Thorin’s hair while his body arched at the intensity. Thorin relented the hold on his chest, moving it to Bilbo’s hip instead. With Bilbo’s back allowed to arch properly, he ground down on Thorin’s fingers, pushing them all the way in. Thorin groaned around Bilbo’s cock at the sight—all sweat-slick skin, face twisted in pleasure, back arched and skin golden in the lamplight as he was pleasured.

Bilbo’s back came down to the bed, but he continued shaking, tossing his head back. He pulled it forward to look at Thorin, who smirked around his shaft.

“How much further? I _ne-neeed you,_ ” Bilbo moaned.

Thorin sucked up Bilbo’s cock and let him go with a soft pop. He growled something in Khuzdul, and Bilbo shook his head. “Westron, love,” he panted, pushing his arse down on Thorin’s fingers. Thorin answered him by shifting, moving up Bilbo’s body and covering it partially with his own, bracing his left forearm above Bilbo’s head without removing his fingers.

Thorin claimed his lover’s mouth in a bruising kiss, absorbing the cry that came when he pushed in a third finger. The dwarf was mildly surprised that it fit, but if Bilbo was to take his cock, he’d need to take all three. Bilbo had both his hands in Thorin’s hair now, gripping tightly but not enough to hurt, and was fucking himself beautifully. Thorin pushed his cock against his hobbit’s thigh as he became desperate for friction, the wanton creature beneath him far too arousing.

“Almost… there,” Thorin choked out before beginning to speak in deep strings of Khuzdul, nose buried in Bilbo’s curls, occasionally flicking his tongue out to play with the pointed ear and the skin around the metal ear cuff. The second he sucked the pointed tip, Bilbo came with a cry, spilling over his own stomach and chest. Thorin’s vision whited, and he groaned as he felt the wave of pleasure crash into him. He didn’t finish, as dwarves were incredibly hardy and able to last, though he felt Bilbo’s orgasm as if it were his own.

“I c-can go-o again, we hobbits can finish m-more than once,” Bilbo whimpered, clenching around Thorin’s fingers experimentally. Thorin groaned and kissed him deeply as he continued to open his lover, finding that fact insanely hot. It didn’t take long before he deemed Bilbo ready.

Thorin pulled back and moved between Bilbo’s legs, which instantly wrapped around his waist.

“Ready?” Thorin asked, voice rough as he slicked himself, stroking his cock to spread it evenly. He was braced on one forearm, keeping his weight mostly off Bilbo.

“Yes!” Bilbo cried, capturing Thorin’s lips with his and deeply kissing him, his tongue in the dwarf’s mouth. Thorin positioned himself with one hand, still bracing himself against the bed with the other. They stared into each other’s eyes, thin blue rings around each pool of black. Then he pushed in a bit, just the tip, and both of them groaned from the sensation. He dropped to the other arm as well, so he was completely over his One. Bilbo, more impatient than he had ever been in his life, raised his heels to Thorin’s arse and pulled him in, taking all of his cock in one smooth motion that had the king throwing his head back and groaning, and the burglar crying out Thorin’s name.

Icy blue, curved spikes appeared in a crown-like formation around Thorin’s eyes and cut down his face, a dwarven symbol glowing in the center of his forehead. Bright green vines wound around Bilbo’s eyes and cheeks, to come up to an equally crown-like formation with a single angular flower in the middle. An audible _snap_ echoed in room, a shockwave of energy pulsing out as Thorin pulled back and then thrust back in. Bilbo crossed his ankles behind Thorin’s back, _knowing_ that the dwarf was loving it, loving him, loving every second of this. The feeling was as fierce as fire, as pure as falling snow.

Likewise, as he slowly thrust in and out of Bilbo’s tightness, Thorin felt the love the hobbit felt for him, as bright as the green hills he was from, as clean as a fresh bud grown from the earth. They merged, mind and body, and saw themselves through the other’s eyes. It only lasted a moment, but it was incredible. Bilbo clenched around him and keened while Thorin groaned, their pleasure doubled from feeling it twice over.

“I’m so—so _full_ ,” Bilbo moaned, “So full I can almost _t-taste_ you.” Thorin kissed him, licking into his mouth and dancing around the hobbit’s tongue as he continued thrusting, shockwaves echoing with every stroke.

It wasn’t too long before he realized Thorin wasn’t being gentle to be gentle—he was purposefully holding himself back, afraid that he would hurt his One. Bilbo appreciated the sentiment, but he was having _none_ of that. He tightened his legs around Thorin’s waist, dragged his short nails over the muscles of Thorin’s back, and bore down around the thick length in him all at once. Thorin groaned from the sensations and instantly knew, knew from his hobbit’s mind and actions, what he wanted.

 _Stop holding back,_ Bilbo pleaded as he bit at Thorin’s bottom lip, soothing it with a swipe of his tongue before pushing into his mouth and sucking his tongue. _I want you, all of you, as you are and will ever be. Take me, let me take you in._

Thorin stuttered in his thrusts, breaking the kiss and laying his forehead against the others’. Their marks flared, igniting with light that pulsed to their heartbeats once Thorin was still.

 _I am afraid I will hurt you. I know you know, but I am strong, and you are_ —

 _I was made for you,_ Bilbo growled. _Give me **you**_ **.** He kissed Thorin hard. **_All of you,_** _dammit, not what you think I can handle!_

And with that, Thorin’s last wall of reserve fell. He repositioned them, pulling Bilbo’s legs up so that the bend of his knees rested on the crook of his elbows, arse at the perfect position thanks to the pillow—and he pulled back till he was barely in Bilbo, before slamming back into him with a force that rocked the entire bed, slammed the headboard against the wall, and had his lover crying out his name. Then he was fucking him with deep, long strokes, fucking him with everything he was, blending them so perfectly that they had no idea where one ended and the other began, mentally or physically.

With every snap of his hips, every thrust in and out, their markings flared bright before dimming, only properly bright when he pushed in. Bilbo cried out with every thrust, Thorin occasionally crying out as well, but also keeping a steady stream of Khuzdul in their minds and in reality that loosely translated to _“Mahal I love you, I love you, fuck, so tight, mine, yes, yours, all yours, oh gods,”_ and other things of that nature. Bilbo echoed him in Westron.

Thorin raised Bilbo’s left leg slightly higher and perfectly nailed that spot in Bilbo that had him crying out earlier.. Bilbo screamed from the heightened pleasure, and more markings exploded across his skin, extending from his cheeks and flowing down to his chest before expanding and spinning into bright green vines and flowers that had a dwarvish twist to them. Thorin hit that spot relentlessly, practically begging more to appear. He had never seen anything so gorgeous as Bilbo exploding into color, exploding with magic.

When Bilbo was able to open his eyes again, he saw that the spikes that had covered Thorin’s skin had gone further, cutting down his neck and emerging from his beard in two sharp, fang-like shapes, only to curl into vines and angular flowers. They both moaned, seeing that their chest markings matched.

 _Wanna_ — _Wanna fuck myself on you,_ Bilbo moaned mentally, giving Thorin a loose mental image of that very thing.

The king groaned, slamming into Bilbo a few more times before agreeing, _Quickly._

He pulled all the way out, and both of them groaned at the loss of sensation. Bilbo immediately flipped, whimpering slightly at the pain in his thighs (that he truly did not care about one bit). Thorin pushed the pillow off the bed and came to rest on his knees, while Bilbo had his arse in the air and his face in the pillow. He pushed his cock against Bilbo’s arse, thrusting between the slick cheeks.

 _Your arse is a blessing from our gods,_ he groaned to Bilbo.

 _I see that, now fuck it!_ Bilbo commanded, ready for more of Thorin.

 _Insatiable thing,_ Thorin teased, even as he pushed back into his One. They both moaned brokenly at the position, Bilbo even tighter than before, squeezing around Thorin’s cock and making precome appear at the tip of the hobbit’s own cock.

Thorin gripped Bilbo’s hips tightly as they moved, watching his cock disappear into the tight, slick hole that was oh so willing to take him in. More broken Khuzdul through the bond, and Bilbo nearly came from feeling Thorin’s absolute, overwhelming _lust_ at seeing him like this. He gave as good as he got, pushing his hips back into Thorin’s with every stroke, feeling their balls slap together lightly.

 _You are mine, mine, all mine, gods, you’re so huge, Thorin. I’m yours, gods I can’t wait to l-learrrn so I can understa-a-ann-nd you… I can’t_ — _I can’t_ — _ahh…_

Thorin pistoned into him with abandon, making sure he hit _that spot_ deep in his lover every time.

Bilbo cried out with every thrust, tears pushing at his eyes from the utter pleasure Thorin was unleashing on him, in him. His vision blurred and then he saw through Thorin’s eyes, seeing that thick, long cock stretching him so far, seeing himself pushing back against him so readily—then Bilbo felt Thorin’s hand on his cock, pulling once, twice—and he cried out, coming hard, spasming impossibly tight around Thorin. He saw more markings light up across his spine and back, glowing bright in the dim room.

Then Thorin buried balls deep in him, and Bilbo continued coming as the Thorin came as well, a wet heat filling him. Thorin shuddered through it, a roared “Bilbo!” the only sound besides the hobbit’s echoing cry of his One’s name. They watched as Thorin kneaded his ass, and come leaked out around his girth. Bilbo whimpered, and Thorin moaned brokenly at the sight.

Once their orgasms subsided, Thorin pulled out with a wet noise and guided Bilbo to the bed, before flopping down beside him and dropping his head heavy to the pillow. Their markings were still lit, though fading slowly from view. Thorin laid on his back, and drew his hobbit to him with one arm around his shoulders. Bilbo went gladly, putting his left leg over Thorin’s and laying his head on the broad chest, entwining their fingers on the other side of it.

“We’re sweaty,” he offhandedly commented.

Thorin laughed, truly _laughed_ , and Bilbo laughed with him, feeling the surprise and humor within himself as well.

_Yes we are, lanselê._

Bilbo jerked, raising his head slightly to meet Thorin’s eyes. “How do I reply when we’re not joined? And what does that mean?”

Thorin grinned and tightened his arm around Bilbo as the last of their markings faded from view.

 _My love of all loves… and just think to me._ His eyes fluttered between shades that Bilbo was hopeless to describe, but all of them were blue. He traced Thorin’s eyes, nose, and jaw with his eyes, soaking it all in.

 _You are the handsomest creature I have ever seen,_ Bilbo breathed.

 _See? You did it,_ Thorin replied, ignoring the comment completely other than a light blush.

Bilbo smiled. _So, is this how Dwalin and Nori normally talk?_

_Yes. They prefer to talk in their heads all the time, instead of gracing us with their thoughts._

Bilbo snorted and lowered his head back to Thorin’s shoulder.

_So is this how we’ll talk from now on?_

Thorin shook his head, pulling Bilbo tighter to him. _Nay._

 _Oh, so you like my voice, is that it?_ Bilbo teased, nipping lightly at the dwarf’s chest. He felt Thorin’s mental nod, surprisingly shy. “Well,” he spoke out loud, “If it’s all the same to you, I prefer hearing _your_ voice as well.”

Exhaustion set in then, and Thorin nuzzled into his curls, smiling contentedly as his soft, blue eyes darted to the oil lamp beside them—and more specifically, the flame that lit it.

“Shuzêl,” he spoke. Their markings flared back to life for a moment, and the wick iced over, leaving them in darkness. “Let us sleep.”

_***_

_Awhile earlier, while the bond was forming._

_***_

A shockwave ripped through the inn, and Nori’s head popped up from resting on Dwalin’s chest.

“Dwal…”

Another shockwave rattled the windows, and ice began to spread across the left side, audibly. They heard a muffled cry, and the small potted marigold beside their bed began growing, sprouting new buds and flowering. A third shockwave hit and Dwalin grabbed him, manhandling Nori into his lap. Their markings flared as their magic responded to that of their comrades, red and silver respectively. The thief groaned in mixed arousal and disappointment.

“I just lost money.”

Dwalin shut him up with a rough kiss, fingers already tugging at his One’s pants.

***

Fili and Kili jumped at a cry of their uncle’s name accompanied by a blast of energy. They gasped, feeling their own locked magic try—and fail—to respond.

“Fee, are they…” he cut off when the second blast hit and watched in wonder as their glasses of water froze, starting at the top and then with sharp squeaking noises becoming completely solid within seconds. A light mist rolled off the glass. A scream of pleasure echoed through the inn along with a third blast of energy that shook the walls, and a deep “Bilbo,” followed.

They looked at each other in utter _horror_ before scrambling out of their rooms and to the end of the hall. They burst through the door of Ori and Balin’s room, eyes wide.

“They’re—” Fili started, but Balin cut him off.

“I know, laddie.” He gave the prince an unimpressed look. Dryly, he added: “Pretty sure half of Arda is aware.” He jerked his head to the potted plant in the corner that was over spilling its pot, flowering and running onto the ground.

“Impossible,” Ori breathed. Ice began encroaching on their window, spreading from left to right. “The magic of growing things, of _life_ …It is not possible!” he exclaimed, wide-eyed and unable to believe what he was seeing.

Balin sighed and clapped him on the shoulder. “He is a child of Yavanna, not Mahal.”

Ori frowned, still not comprehending. “But he has _dwarvish_ magic, Balin. Dwarvish magic cannot control that which lives.”

Fili and Kili were looking between the two as they went back and forth, unable to contribute until Kili jumped up.

“He’s a hobbit!”

The other three looked at him as if he were a bit touched in the head.

“With dwarf magic!” he continued in earnest. “He’s a mix of both, but favors hobbit. That’s why he gets along with us so well! Not because his soul is pure dwarven fire, but because he has the kindness and gentleness of a hobbit as well!”

They stared at him for a minute, before Balin nodded slowly, clearly thinking. “You may be right. Mahal and Yavanna came together to create his soul, and though the magic is dwarvish, it comes from who we are. Apparently, his soul is one with the Earth’s plants; befitting, is it not?”

A shockwave rattled the windows and without waiting for further comment, Balin hopped up and made his way to the door.

“Where are you going?” Ori asked.

Balin looked back with an exasperated look as he opened the door, one foot already outside the room. “To buy off the inn owner. We may be the only patrons at the moment, but he needn’t tell others that we were here, nor what he heard.”

He shut the door behind him, and a few minutes passed in awkward silence. It was broken only by the rumbles shaking the inn and Fili and Kili sitting cross-legged on Balin’s abandoned bed.

Fili was the first to speak, addressing Ori. “Is it, ah, _normal_ for there to be this much…” he struggled with the word and waved his hand around. “…activity?”

Ori furrowed his brow and shook his head. “No, normally it subsides after the first few… ah, you know.” He blushed, and the princes blushed with him, the subject more than awkward considering it was their uncle and friend they were discussing.

Kili asked, “So what’s different about them?”

Ori took a moment to choose his words.

“Their power, I think. Your uncle is our king, whether or not he has a crown—not to mention, he is of the Line of Durin, and the firstborn. Couple that with a very strong will and… you get strong magic.”

“And Bilbo?”

The scribe shook his head. “I assume it is because they were made for each other as equals in every way, that Bilbo holds the same strength. His magic is unlike anything we have ever seen before, anything that has ever been recorded at least. The only type of Earth magic I am aware of is that held by the elves. They have song-spells that grow their trees how they want, whether it be shapely or simply quickly.” He paused to smile. “Funnily enough, I had no idea about that until Bilbo told me last week. Sometimes we talk about the elves when Thorin isn’t listening.” He winked at the brothers, who grinned back cheekily.

“Oh aye,” Fili laughed. “I’m sure uncle would completely lose the mood if he knew we were just _talking_ about the tree-shaggers three doors down from him.”

“Not to mention how snappy he’d get,” Kili added.

***

The following morning, Bilbo woke before Thorin in roughly the same position they had fallen asleep in the night before. Instead of getting up, he continued lying in his One’s arms, content with enjoying the moment. He watched Thorin’s chest rise and fall as he breathed, felt his heartbeat beneath his cheek. It was after hearing a slight noise from outside their room that he realized they may not have more time like this, and he bemoaned that fact. But there was still time.

He moved his eyes down Thorin’s chest to his defined stomach, the V in his hips, and… _oh._

Bilbo had a mischievous glint in his eyes and an equally mischievous smirk when he realized the best way to wake up his One. Very gently, he slid out of Thorin’s embrace and down between his thighs, careful not to wake him. Bracing himself on the bed, he leaned forward and licked a stripe up Thorin’s mostly hard length.

The dwarf beneath him gave a short moan and burrowed his head further into the pillow, hands clenching momentarily in his sleep. Bilbo could tell through the bond that in his dream, funnily enough, Thorin was seeing exactly what was happening—except in a room of brilliantly carved stone, on a large four-poster bed.

Bilbo then took Thorin in hand, gently pulling back the foreskin, and dipped his head to take the tip into his mouth. He moved slowly at first, making sure there was plenty of liquid to slick the entire shaft, before wrapping a hand around his base and taking as much of his cock as he could. He began bobbing, pushing his tongue against the underside of Thorin’s shaft while working the rest with his hand. It wasn’t long before it was fully hard, and Bilbo had a wicked idea that was partly a personal challenge. He took in as much of the cock as he could—the tip and a bit more going down into his throat, effectively deep-throating.

Thorin hissed and arched his back, being careful not to jostle his hips.

“Mahal, givashel,” he moaned, finally waking to the feeling of Bilbo’s mouth around him. Bilbo flicked his eyes up to meet Thorin’s, which were wide, virtually black, and trained on him. He swallowed around Thorin’s length twice, and Thorin’s eyes rolled back at the feeling. Bilbo pulled up slowly, sucking deeply the whole way. When he finally reached the head, he flicked his tongue over it twice before letting it go, causing Thorin to moan again.

“Good morning, love,” Bilbo said with a sly grin. Thorin gave him a slightly sleepy and very lusty look before hauling his hobbit up by the arms, pulling their naked bodies together.

“You are a blessing,” he murmured against Bilbo’s lips, tangling a hand in his curls. Bilbo hummed in agreement as he was kissed deeply, tongues entwining. He pulled away far too soon for Thorin’s tastes, ear cuff glinting in the gentle morning light as he moved back down to Thorin’s cock.

“I wasn’t done,” he said with a smirk.

Thorin raised an eyebrow, keeping one hand in Bilbo’s curls and gesturing towards his arousal with the other. “By all means, continue.”

Bilbo wasted no time in sucking him down, hand around the bottom half of Thorin’s shaft. Thorin groaned, eyes widening again, fisting his hand in Bilbo’s hair and trying his best to not thrust into the hot wetness of his lover’s mouth.

This continued for a while, until Bilbo tasted a bit of precome on his tongue. He looked up to meet Thorin’s eyes, blue on blue, and felt Thorin nearly come undone at the sight of him. Bilbo practically purred through the bond, loving how Thorin was responding to his appearance. The hobbit’s ass was in the air from the position he was in, but what really got Thorin were Bilbo’s lips, bright red and stretched around his cock.

“Bilbo,” he groaned, gripping the sheets with one hand and running his hand through Bilbo’s blond hair with the other. Bilbo hummed around Thorin’s cock, pulling another delicious noise from the king. He continued to bob up and down, pulling Thorin closer to the edge with every passing minute. The king had never felt this type of pleasure, and it was clear to both of them even without the bond.

Before too long Thorin was reduced to a moaning mess, hips twitching with a commendable effort to not thrust into his lover’s slick mouth.

“Bilbo,” he groaned, voice lower and accept clipped far more than Bilbo had ever heard it. Bilbo, frankly, was surprised he was even able to speak Westron at this point. “Finish me.” Thorin made a noise that, in lesser dwarves, could have been considered a whimper. “I can’t take much more,” then in their heads he sent Bilbo what he was seeing: _Do you see how alluring_ _you are?_ His accent pulled heavily at the r’s, making them last longer.

The burglar met his eyes with his lips wrapped around his cock and winked, causing Thorin to moan again, throwing his head back and subconsciously thankful for the pillow that saved him from a concussion. He jerked his head back down, not wanting to miss a single moment.

Then Bilbo started doing something that was so intense he could have cried. Sucking just the tip between his tongue and roof of his mouth, in and pushing it back out quickly while pumping the shaft. Thorin cried out at the sensation, raising his upper body onto his forearms, entire body shaking from pleasure.

Within seconds he was coming, hand fisting in Bilbo’s hair, Bilbo’s name on his lips. The hobbit sealed his lips around the head and took in Thorin’s come, gently stroking his shaft through his orgasm. When the liquid stopped coming, he pulled back and swallowed, looking Thorin right in the eye. He grinned, clearly proud of himself.

“Mmmph,” Thorin managed, before pulling at the hobbit’s arm. Bilbo slid up the bed and sat beside his love, curling his body so that he was wrapped around Thorin. Thorin’s arms wrapped around him in turn and they nuzzled noses before simply sitting there in his afterglow, foreheads together.

 _We need to get up,_ Bilbo mentioned with a tone that implied he _really_ wasn’t concerned about it.

_Aye. But you have not been taken care of._

Bilbo whimpered as a hand took his cock and began pumping it slowly, the callouses feeling surprisingly wonderful. Before long he was rutting up into Thorin’s hand, back slightly arched and sweating against Thorin.

 _Come for me,_ Thorin growled, increasing the speed of his strokes.

Bilbo moaned continuously for a few minutes, writhing against his One, before finally coming over Thorin’s hand with a sharp cry.

Thorin pulled back and, keeping his eyes locked on Bilbo’s, licked away some of the come. Bilbo groaned, _that’s hot._ He rolled to properly straddle Thorin and took both their cocks in hand, Thorin’s back up and ready to go, Bilbo’s never having gone down to begin with—being a hobbit had some perks, after all. Thorin put his hand over his and they jerked themselves together with Bilbo’s come, breathing quickly.

 _I can’t get enough of you,_ Thorin growled through the bond.

Bilbo keened and nodded quickly, already reaching his second peak. _Come with me!_

Then their bond opened completely, and they were one, allowing each of them to feel their pleasure twice over. Thorin bit into Bilbo’s neck and came for the second time that morning, Bilbo finishing with him.

 _Gods that felt good,_ Bilbo whispered as they fell from their peak. Thorin removed his lips from his hobbit’s neck where he had worked a deep purple mark. He felt immense satisfaction knowing that no one could mistake that mark for what it was: a mark that showed Bilbo was _his_ , and _he_ was Bilbo’s.

Before Thorin could reply, there was a loud banging on their door.

“What?!” Thorin barked.

Gloin’s muffled voice came through the door. “Time ter get up! Clean yerselves ‘n come eat!”

Though neither Thorin nor Bilbo replied, the footsteps moved away. They kissed lightly one last time before hopping up and going about their business. Well, Thorin did at least. The moment Bilbo’s feet hit the floor his knees buckled, and he barely caught himself on the bed. He hadn’t been expecting his legs to be so weak, nor his behind so sore. Though, as he thought on how _large_ Thorin was, it shouldn’t have been surprising.

Thorin tossed on some pants and gave Bilbo a pair wordlessly, though the frown and an ache in Bilbo’s mind let him know that he was worried. Thorin then, much to Bilbo’s chagrin, carried him to the baths (which were thankfully at the end of the hallway, ten feet from their room, and witness-free). They washed separately, though Thorin finished first and came back with Oin in tow just as Bilbo finished.

“You okay, laddie?” the half deaf dwarf asked, ear horn pointed in Bilbo’s direction. The hobbit blushed, and gave Thorin a _look._

“Yes, I am fine. Just having a bit of trouble on my feet, is all. His fault, really.” He grinned at the pair. Thorin, however, didn’t appreciate it.

“Bilbo, you can’t walk.”

The hobbit in question gave him an indignant look before rising from the bath and waddling over to the bench, to towel himself off. “I can walk just fine, thank you, now that the hot water has eased out the kinks. I’m _supposed_ to be sore, Thorin. If I wasn’t, you wouldn’t be half as good a lover as you are.” _Nor half as large,_ he mentally sent.

Then he saw Thorin tense out of the corner of his eye. Oin moved close to their toweling burglar and touched his bare hip, uncaring about the lack of clothing. “Do these hurt?”

Bilbo looked down and was surprised to see the dark, bruised outline of fingerprints on his hips. He huffed and crossed his arms. “No!” He pointed a finger at Thorin accusingly. “And don’t you start brooding, I loved it just as much as you did. Why, these only show how _passionate_ the whole affair was. Would it make you feel better if I bruised _you_ next time?”

Oin pretended not to hear the second half of what he said, and Thorin visibly relaxed. “Yes.”

Bilbo let out a surprised laugh, eyebrows raising. “So be it.” _Next time I’ll take **you** from behind, and we’ll see how you like it._

Thorin’s eyes lit up at the idea. _I’ll hold you to that, burglar._

Bilbo dressed quickly, and the trio made their way downstairs to the main part of the inn. The company had pushed a few tables together so they were all seated together, instead of spread out.

“Hey! There’s our conquering heroes!” Fili exclaimed, raising a mug. A cheer went up from all the dwarves, nearly deafening in noise level, before ending in laughter. Both Bilbo and Thorin blushed, not having expected everyone to know.

Balin laughed at the looks on their faces. “You two rocked the inn for half the night with energy waves.” Bilbo decided to ask Thorin about that later, during their watch.

A few more cheers and lewd jokes followed Balin’s words, and Bilbo rolled his eyes in fond exasperation. _Dwarves,_ he thought to himself with a smile. Gandalf took that moment to speak up from his seat at the bar, a bright twinkle in his eyes that matched the smile on his face. “It took you two long enough, I was wondering if someone would need to intervene.”

Half the dwarves looked at him in surprise, and the other half laughed. Thorin sighed deeply, before taking Bilbo’s hand and moving towards the bench. Nori called out, “I don’t think so! You kept us up, you could at least show us a kiss, eh? Settle these bets once and for all?”

Thorin looked at Dwalin in a way that the rugged dwarf knew was a silent plea for help. He shook his head, crossing his arms and grinning. Thorin got himself into this, after all.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” Bilbo huffed. He jerked Thorin by the hand so the dwarf was facing him, and proceeded to bury his hands in those raven tresses, going up on his tiptoes, and kissing his One deeply. After a heartbeat Thorin responded, hands falling to his hobbit’s back and pulling him closer, kissing back just as strongly. Cheers went up beside them, along with a few whistles.

There was a smattering of applause as they broke away, and a few false retching noises from Fili and Kili that Bilbo laughed at. Thorin looked slightly dazed, both from the kiss and as if he really couldn’t believe his luck at having his future consort so well accepted.

They joined the company at the table, sitting side by side, and laughed at the lewd questions as they ate their breakfast. It wasn’t too long before they were headed off: back on the road by pony-back.

Bilbo turned in his saddle to give one final look at the place his life had changed so momentously. Thorin looked back with him, tossing his hair and braids as he turned. The warm feeling of adoration filled their bond, and they broke their gazes from the inn to meet each other’s eyes. The corner of Thorin’s lip quirked upwards, eyes twinkling blue in the late morning light: he nodded once to Bilbo before turning back to the road in front of them.

As the inn disappeared from view, Bilbo remembered something from the first night he had met Thorin and the others, something that Gandalf had said. He smiled to himself, feeling a completeness in his very soul that he never knew he was missing as he thought:

_Far to the east, over ridges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak._

_Home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH for your kudos and comments, they brighten my day and make me want to do nothing but write <3
> 
> On a side note...how did you like my first time writing smut?
> 
> Next chapter is Rivendell, so if you have any sexy/magic/funny requests, now's the time to get them in!


	9. Fae & Fighting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this has taken so long, and I'm sorry that it's not exactly Rivendell. There are a couple things I need to hash out first. As for my long absence: life sucks, and I'm sorry. Hopefully the next update won't take nearly this long. I'm sorry guys. <3 Thank you for sticking with me!
> 
> This chapter is unbeta'd as of right now.

Over a week passed since the inn, and everything was progressing beautifully.

Thorin and Bilbo still kept first watch together, having deep conversations that covered everything from their favorite drinking songs to their deepest fears that had come to pass. During the day they talked with Balin and Dwalin respectively on how to control their powers; Bilbo learning basic commands in Khuzdul and Thorin on _exactly_ how tied to their emotions their magics were. The future king and consort would slip off occasionally during the nights (before or after their watch) to indulge in each other, before coming back to camp to either sleep or eat dinner. The latter situation was laced with rowdy jokes from the others, and generally only ended once Thorin threw something at the offenders. The pair slept entwined each night. Their bedrolls were pushed together to make enough room for the both of them, and they shared dreams as often as not: as was normal with a bonded couple.

Of course, good things–peaceful things–always must come to an end.

It was evening. They were still traveling by pony and Gandalf had gone ahead to scout when there was movement behind Fili, movement too big to be anything but Bilbo’s biggest fear.

“Fili, duck!” Bilbo cried as he reached into his belt, his voice loud and piercing in the silence. Fili flattened himself against his pony as the rest of the company jerked their own ponies around, eyes darting for danger. Thorin’s reared, chomping on the bit, clearly incensed by the harsh treatment. Nori and Dwalin’s did the same, along with Kili’s.

A warg jumped out of the dense dark forest, growling as it went for the blond prince. Bilbo pulled his arm back, blade in hand, and lined his shot up with his left elbow. Quickly he let it fly. In mid-leap, the blade flew through the left eye and disappeared into the beast’s skull. It was dead before it hit the ground, a rush of blood from the eye socket being the only sign it had been hit at all. The rider flew off screeching, and the twin of Bilbo’s first blade buried itself in the orc’s throat. Deep gurgles were overshadowed by cries of alarm, as the company was finally able to get a look at what had occurred.

The warg lay prostrate, but the orc was gushing thick, black blood around the silver in its neck. Its miserable existence was ended by Kili, who shot an arrow into its face with a harsh set of words spat in Khuzdul.

Fili hopped off his pony and jogged over to Bilbo. The gold-haired prince pulled him off Myrtle and into a hug, ignoring how the hobbit shook with adrenaline.

“You saved my life,” he murmured, his voice obstructed by the fabric of Bilbo’s red coat. “It would have killed me, Bilbo.”

The hobbit hugged him back but pulled away as he replied, eyes scanning the area for movement. His voice was best described as distracted. “Yes, it would have. We need to keep moving. There could be more, and I’ve already lost one blade.”

A deep wave of gratitude crashed through Bilbo, a tsunami from Thorin that physically pushed him back a step and into his pony. The hobbit shook his head and mounted Myrtle, clucking at the prince to do the same. Thorin, however, was now the one holding them up. The raven haired dwarf had dismounted and walked up to the dead warg.

 _Thorin, just leave it,_ Bilbo sent. He felt a rush of warmth at the knowledge that his dwarf was caring for him, but it was overshadowed by fear of what else may lay in the woods.

He was ignored as Thorin took his sword and deftly cut off the head, before cutting again down the middle with a loud _crack._ Bilbo looked away, the carnage being a bit too much for him when all he wanted to do was run or fight or ride or _something, anything._ Adrenaline does that to a person, especially a small being like a hobbit. _Too much energy and not enough space,_ Bilbo thought to himself absently. His feelings spurred Thorin to cut a bit sloppier than he usually would have, but he still got the job done.

Bilbo avoided the looks of the company around him and tried to ignore the loud cracks and squelching of the warg’s skull being torn apart. It lasted less than two minutes and yet, he was surprised when a hand touched his knee. Somehow he had managed to miss Thorin approaching, despite their bond.

“Bilbo, your blade.”

Bilbo looked to his left and down. There by his knee stood Thorin, hands bloodied and outstretched with his silver blades in the palm. A small smear of blood was on his cheekbone, below his left eye, most likely left by his hurried cutting. Bilbo’s eyes darted to the bright moonstone that awaited him, currently icy blue, and gave the dwarf a smile and a mental caress.

“Thank you.”

He took the knives in his hand, fingers brushing Thorin’s palm as he did so. Warmth spread from the touch, as usual. He had become so accustomed to it that he was not surprised anymore, only glad for it. The warmth gave him strength.

Thorin went to move away but before he did so, Bilbo said, “Wait,” with a sigh of feigned exasperation and a slight eye roll. The hobbit wet his left thumb and began brushing away the blood on the king’s cheek, four fingers cupping his face while the thumb swiped. Thorin gripped Bilbo’s ankle as he did so, his eyelids dropping slightly from the attention. The hobbit did his best to focus on the blood, but even in his peripherals he could see darker blue bleeding through into his irises, starting near the pupil. It was hard to ignore and it only took Bilbo a couple seconds to give in and take a proper look at them. His breath was snatched from him instantly, seeing the look in those exquisite eyes.

 _Do you think the bond changed our eyes? Yours seem to truly change color,_ Bilbo asked him, “voice” quiet and thoughtful.

Thorin dragged himself out of his _deeply_ inappropriate feelings (that he was blocking from Bilbo, knowing this was neither the time nor place to explore such thoughts) to reply. He studied Bilbo’s eyes closely. _Perhaps. Let me observe for a couple of days, see if I notice anything._

Unfortunately it only took a few seconds to clean off the blood, and all too soon Thorin was letting go with a lingering caress of fingers. It felt like thanks laden with a promise of _later_.

 _We need to go, go, go, get out of here, there could be more, surely they heard the orc squeal, surely we aren’t safe–luck isn’t on our side,_ Bilbo fretted, adrenaline still coursing strong.

 _Calm, my One,_ Thorin sent softly as he mounted his pony. _We will be fine._

Bilbo sighed and gripped Myrtle’s reigns almost painfully, but was pulled out of his thoughts as the ponies began moving again. There was silence for a while, all straining their ears, but after ten minutes or so the company decided it was safe enough to begin talking again.

Ori was beside him as usual, though now Dwalin and Nori held up the back of the company, meaning they were behind the hobbit and scribe. Fili and Kili thus moved up, side by side behind their uncle.

“So, Bilbo, do hobbits have any tales of the fae? Or fairies, as you might know them?”

The question was so out of the blue that Bilbo promptly forgot his fearful train of thought in favor of a laugh. His voice was amused when he spoke, though his eyes still darted about as he replied to the scribe.

“Oh, how I know them. You do realize I’m half Took, right?” The second half was asked with a tilted head and brow, along with a crooked grin that seemed to say, “Wow, really?”

Ori frowned. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand how that’s relevant.”

Bilbo shook his head, mostly at himself, before focusing on the dwarf beside him. “I suppose you wouldn’t. Well, I can do you one better than a story.” He took a moment to see if Thorin was actively paying attention to the conversation through the bond, and finding he wasn’t, Bilbo put up a slight mental shield to hide their words. This was a discussion he was _not_ ready to have with his dwarf. “More of a family legend, really, but biology has proven it correct in the past. Not within my own generation, but one of my uncles…” Here he paused and chewed his lip, unsure. So far everything had gone splendidly with the company– _especially_ Thorin–but considering their reactions with elves, he wasn’t quite comfortable with taking any more chances. He leaned towards Ori and dropped his voice, tightening his grip on Myrtle so he wouldn’t fall.

“Dwarves don’t have any problems with the fae, do they? Like elves?”

He was so deadly serious that Ori stared at him for a long moment, before busting out in a snorting laugh that had Dori looking back suspiciously. A few others glanced back as well, but didn’t give it much thought. A solid ten seconds passed before the redhead was finally able to calm himself, wiping tears from his eyes and fanning himself with a hand before covering his mouth. The gesture was one normally used in over-exaggeration but this time it was clearly legitimate, from the sparkling in his light brown eyes. He shook his head, pursing his lips and taking the reins again.

Bilbo grinned despite himself. Clearly the dwarves thought that the fae were just another tale to be told to children…Goodness knew how his lineage would be reacted to.

“Well, I’m sorry, I had to ask.”

Ori nodded and waved a hand at him to continue, eyes still shining from mirth and a light smile lighting his face. Bilbo continued quietly, hoping that the sound of the ponies’ hooves would drown out his words to Dwalin and Nori. After all, each row of dwarves were roughly fifteen feet away from each other, Dwalin and Nori only a little further than that.

“Well…You see, my family has always been rumored to have fae blood on my mother’s side, the Took side. Most people don’t believe it though, say it’s a myth…but the thing is, we _do._ My great-great-great-great-great grandfather, and yes that was five greats, took a fae woman for his wife.”

Ori’s eyes were bulging, and Bilbo sighed internally. _I hope he believes me. This is hard enough to admit as it is._

“It is rumored that she was as beautiful and wild as the legendary Fanghorn Forest. You’ve heard of that, right?” Ori nodded quickly, much in the way a small child would. It really struck Bilbo in that moment as to how _young_ Ori was compared to most of their company, but he moved past it without much thought. He was still an adult, after all. “Well, they were wed and had a great number of children, and now almost all Tooks are descended from them. Large families are common with hobbits, as you know.” Ori nodded once, eyes glued to Bilbo. _It’s a good thing his pony is so well trained,_ Bilbo thought. _Otherwise he’d crash into a tree._

“This is the really interesting part, though.” Bilbo leaned towards Ori again, his voice barely audible to the dwarf across from him. “Don’t freak out, alright? But some Took males, thanks to the fae blood, have the ability to carry children. They are called bearers. It is very rare this day and age, and I have only met one myself. He and his husband’s children are beautiful, by the way. You’ve met two of them: Aster and Alder.”

Ori’s mouth was wide open, and he stared at Bilbo as if he had never seen him before.

“Surely you aren’t being serious!” Ori whispered fervently. “I did meet them! They seem so…so…” he seemed to struggle with the word, and Bilbo took a deep breath.

“Normal? Yes, it’s because they are. But they are free-spirited, even for Tooks–a product of having more fae influence than most. My mother was also the child of a bearer, though a different one. He passed before I was born.” Here Bilbo smiled softly, the memory of his mother appearing in his mind. “She was _absolutely_ wild. Took after the fae even more than Aster and Alder, if you’d believe it. She went off with Gandalf on her own adventure once–but you know that. Very few people actually go with Gandalf, and none go on such dangerous journeys as she did.”

Ori nodded, and you could tell from the outside that the wheels in his mind were flying at full speed. Suddenly Ori sat up ramrod straight, a bright look in his eyes and a hopeful smile on his face. “So are you a - a - bearer as well, then?” There was no small amount of wonder in his voice and Bilbo smiled, surprised and glad that this was his friend’s reaction to all the information he had just absorbed. A small part of him had feared rejection or worse, but Ori simply seemed intrigued and shocked–the best possible outcome, in his opinion. (Which, coincidentally, was the only opinion that mattered; a certain Sackville-Baggins be damned.)

Bilbo shrugged before replying. “I don’t know. It’s impossible to know until you’ve found your bonded – and yes, you have to be bound for the trait to show itself. And even then, it may not occur for decades. It is completely unpredictable, just like the fae themselves, though it seems to be more likely with the stronger the bond. My mother believed it was a gift, simple biology or not: the gift of ultimate growth to the braver children of Yavanna.”

Ori just looked at him, that wondrous smile still upon his face, before finally asking: “But Bilbo, you _are_ strongly bonded! _And_ you have gone off on your own adventure!” He waved his arm dramatically and laughed. “For Mahal’s sake, you’ve signed up to burgle from a _dragon_ with a company of _dwarves!”_

The hobbit huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes before speaking dryly. “Yes, Ori, I am aware of that. Do you think I could miss this lot’s snoring? Even a deaf man could hear Bombur’s!” They laughed together. “But no, it hasn’t shown itself yet.”

Ori was barely put off by his statement, bright grin still tugging his lips up. “Are you _positive_ there’s no way to tell before you…show? No pointier ears or hairier feet…or…or _anything?_ ”

Bilbo laughed, bringing his voice back to a normal level. “No, Ori, there isn’t.”

“Can–“ here the scribe blushed, and kept his voice down as he asked, “Can we tell the others? This is incredible, Bilbo!”

“I…” The hobbit looked to Myrtle’s mane and threaded his fingers through it nervously, face falling into a frown. “I’d rather not, honestly. Perhaps in time, but not now. There is no reason to. Truthfully, you’ve become my closest friend besides Thorin, and I hesitated telling even you. Most do not react as positively as you have. The last time I told someone, they…well, you met Robyn. Clearly that didn’t go well.” Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut, remembering the way his previous beau had reacted.

Ori frowned. “Robyn? The rude hobbit in the Shire?” At Bilbo’s resigned nod, Ori scowled and scrunched his nose up in disgust. “I don’t know what he did or said, but he didn’t deserve you. Have you told Thorin yet?”

Bilbo met his eyes with a sadness that surprised Ori and shook his head. “Honestly, I’m afraid to. He isn’t half as open minded as you are.”

Ori shook his head. 

“I know that Thorin can be closed-minded a lot of the time, but you need to understand that dwarves love children more than anything else in this world; even more than our gems.” He smiled at Bilbo’s surprised look and nodded in affirmation. “It’s true, Balin was not bluffing when he told Robyn that we treasure children above all else. I guarantee that Thorin will be alright with it, to put it lightly. Most likely he’ll be happy and excited to find out that there’s even the _slightest_ chance you might carry his children one day.”

Bilbo frowned. “Will…will he have to take a…” He grit his teeth and glared at Myrtle’s mane, strengthening the shield in the bond to hide his anger and disappointment. “A concubine, if I do not present? To carry on his line?” He chanced a look at Ori, who appeared absolutely horrified by the very thought.

“No! His line is continued in Fili and Kili, and even if it wasn’t, dwarves do not lay with another after bonding–unless it is to have a third party join the pair for fun.”

The hobbit visibly relaxed, letting out air he wasn’t even aware he was holding. “Good.” He nodded, repeating himself. “Good.”

Ori tilted his head. “Why do you think he would take a concubine, knowing what you know about dwarves? Surely you know the saying.”

Bilbo recited the saying he was referencing: “It is a fierce and jealous love, the desire and hearts of dwarves.”

“Yes, that one,” Ori said with a nod. Bilbo mulled over his thoughts for a minute before answering.

“Mainly because he is royalty, and as soon as we get to Erebor and have the dragon mess settled, he will officially be a king. I know that Fili and Kili are princes, but I suppose…jealously made me jump to that conclusion.” He grinned self-deprecatingly. “Looks like you dwarves are rubbing off on me.”

They shared a chuckle, and Ori steered his pony closer so he could clap Bilbo on the back.

“Never worry, my friend. If there’s anything dwarves understand with love, it’s jealousy.”

Bilbo found it interesting that he was jealous over Thorin, when he hadn’t been about Robyn–at least, not in this way. He lost himself in thought as they continued to ride, considering the pros and cons of telling Thorin. Of course, that train of thought led down a much darker path than he had initially intended.

_The dark haired hobbit had called Bilbo a liar at first, and later used it against him in arguments._

_It wasn’t long after he was told when Bilbo caught Robyn in bed with a female hobbit, and the dark haired man had only laughed and said: “What? You can’t blame me for wanting a **proper** woman once in a while, can you? Since you’re just a flat one with a bonus accessory.” It hadn’t mattered to him that there was every chance that Bilbo wasn’t a bearer, nor did it matter that such a gift should be seen as just that: a gift. Not something to be mocked for._

Robyn had been cruel. It was unlikely that any other lover would have treated him like that, no matter their feelings on the subject. _That’s what I get for accepting the courting of a Sackville,_ Bilbo thought with a grimace. _He only wanted the money, anyways. Which he got, through my cousin. Live and learn._

Bilbo gave a false smile when Ori asked if he was alright, barely hearing the words the dwarf said. It was clear Bilbo’s mood had shifted, and Ori didn’t mind letting him brood alone if that’s what he needed. The dwarf had an incredible amount of things to think about and consider now, and brooding was something he was used to from Thorin. Still, he shot glances to the hobbit every now and then, unsure as to where his friend’s mind had gone.

After a few minutes Bilbo looked forward, taking in the widening path and tall trees on either side. There was light ahead, a break in the foliage that promised open air. _Most likely a glade,_ he thought absentmindedly. _Or maybe we’re finally reaching the plains?_ Still, he daren’t hope that they could already be so near the foothills of the Misty Mountains.

As he glanced across the company, mentally counting to make sure everyone was accounted for, Thorin flicked his hair back and turned slightly in his saddle, doing the same.

The dwarf seemed concerned – as he had every right to be. He was feeling down for no reason, a pressure in his mind that hung heavy like a shadow over his thoughts. He wasn’t feeling anything particularly negative through the bond, but that didn’t mean that Bilbo wasn’t blocking him out. Seeing the melancholy on his One’s face made him believe that he might be right, but now wasn’t the time to pry. He could do that later (once everyone else was asleep) and assuage whatever fears Bilbo had.

Despite knowing all was technically right, Thorin’s shoulders hunched slightly and he broke into a trot, ready to leave the dense forest behind in exchange for an open place to camp.

Right as they neared the edge of light, a sled burst through the trees.

“Thieves! Fire! Murder!”

A small man covered in brown came sliding into the clearing. They were all surprised to find that the sled was pulled by _rabbits,_ not any proper animal.

“Radaghast!” Gandalf called in surprise, before becoming suspicious. “Rhadagast the Brown…what on earth are you doing here?”

“There’s something wrong, Gandalf. Something terribly wrong.”

The wizards went out of earshot of the company to talk their “Wizard business” as Thorin had called it. While they did so, the dwarves dismounted. They took their packs off of the ponies to give the beasts a proper breather. After that, Thorin sought out Dwalin. He wanted to know more about the possible limitations of his magic, and Dwalin was more than willing to share. Just as they were starting to actually get somewhere with the conversation, a howl sounded in the distance.

“Was that a wolf?” Bilbo asked, face pale and already knowing the answer. It was Bofur who answered.

“No,” the miner said slowly. “That is not a wolf.”

Just then a warg burst through the trees, leaping over Bilbo’s head and coming to an instant _stop_ as Thorin brought his sword down on its head. Before he could remove the steel, he heard movement behind him and moved to the side, allowing Kili to fire an arrow into another warg.

“Run!” Gandalf shouted, except then Ori came running from where he had been a few dozen paces behind the company.

“The ponies bolted!” The scribe called, trampling over the underbrush and out of breath.

Then they were grabbing their belongings and fleeing on foot, dashing behind boulders and freezing behind some while the brown wizard drew away the orcs. Finally their scent was caught, and they began running flat out, wargs right behind, having caught onto the ruse. They were pulled into a circle around some boulders, and Bilbo attacked one orc by weaving the grass strong around the warg’s ankles, tripping it and causing it to crush its rider.

Still, they were far too outnumbered. Thorin planted his feet, markings flaring bright as he raised his arms and chanted in Khuzdul. The air around them seemed to drop a few degrees as the magic within Thorin rose to the surface. He snarled as finally the magic reached its breaking point; a wave of energy pulsed out of him, creating a wide circle of ice high enough to hide his boots from view. He moved his hands in a circular motion, and ice rose from the ground. It spun in tight cyclones mid-air that came together to form deathly sharp icicles within seconds.

“MAIFBIRI!” All six shot forward in one smooth motion, embedding themselves in three riders and their mounts.

Nori became darkness itself, a writhing mass of black with tendrils waving in the light. A few wargs balked, unsure, but one shot forward at its rider’s command. Dwalin roared, muscles expanding and skin reddening as he charged it. His axe decapitated it, and the body crushed its rider. A knife from his One flew past his ear to bury itself in a black warg, but he paid it no mind.

Bilbo was moving, stance wide as he walked back and forth, keeping his front to his enemies. He watched Kili shoot an orc straight off its mount, Fili cutting off the furry leg in a spray of blood – and Thorin. Thorin was holding his own against three pairs of enemies, the ice around his feet constantly shifting and evolving in waves. It did not keep him in one place; instead it moved _with_ him. Bilbo registered Bofur and Bombur bringing down an orc together, Bifur going berserk beside Dwalin, Nori watching both their backs. The others were making sure their counterparts weren’t overwhelmed from the back. Balin and Dori smashed the skull of a warg between their hammers even as Oin and Gloin took down an orc that had dismounted.

Bilbo was throwing his knives as he needed them, just like the previous time they had fought together. He felt a swell of pride in himself and his dwarves as they fought together seamlessly; Fili missed a swing, but before he could be stabbed a flash of silver tore through fetid flesh; a warg ran for Ori, and Bilbo buried two knives in it before the scribe’s borrowed hammer took it down with a sickening _crunch._

Bilbo was running out of knives, and as he was no fool, he began to back up. His markings were flared bright green, responding to Thorin’s magic, and he had an idea.

“Mai’biri,” he murmured, following the tug in his mind and allowing himself to _feel_ the earth fully. “Mai’biri, iznêd“ The grass around the company began to sway, the width of the grass line no more than a foot. It became taller as it did so, heeding the hobbit’s call. Back and forth as if an invisible wind was pulling it into being, it flattened and raised in a cycle.

His eyes slipped closed, and he fell into a trance. The world seemed to stop, if only for a moment.

Bilbo could feel every place the filth of their enemies touched and the brighter steps of his allies; he was in no danger. His feet led him back, back into the safety of Thorin’s ice circle – backs now pressed together, Bilbo heard an awed _“Amrâlimê,”_ in his mind, as Thorin felt how far his magic went. Ice caressed the hobbit’s calves as the battle raged on, even as it disappeared from beneath his feet but held onto his legs. Ice was thrown and grass grew exponentially – and then he felt it, the warg getting too close to Thorin – he dipped into his One’s mind and saw that the orc’s armor was extremely thick, thicker than most of his comrades, and had blocked the frozen projectile.

Bilbo’s eyes flew open, unseeing; his sight was through Thorin’s eyes. Bilbo shouted “Igribi!” The flowing grass, nearly as tall as Bilbo himself, converged; wrapping itself around the warg’s legs and causing it to fly forward. It slammed into a hastily erected ice barrier, and an icy blade sprouted from that to stab it through the brain. The rider landed on Thorin’s circle of ice. Thorin drew his sword, Deathless, and beheaded it within seconds; black blood sprayed on his boots, tainting the bluish white ice, and he spun to intercept the next orc that _thought_ it had seen an opening.

Bilbo’s eyes were closed again as he reached out with his magic, tangling up wargs for the company as often as he could while Thorin fought behind him.

 _I’d give anything for a single bloody tree,_ Bilbo sent.

Thorin chuckled as he faced off a surprisingly large orc. _And I a source of water, but here we are._ He dodged backwards, narrowly missing the black blade. Then he sliced up diagonally, cutting the orc from hip to opposite shoulder. It fell to its knees and he stabbed straight through its face before kicking it in the shoulder to remove his blade.

“There are too many!” Kili shouted. “I’m out of arrows!”

Thorin spun to his voice, and Bilbo saw through his eyes: a warg running for the prince, just out of his sight. “Kili!” Thorin yelled, just as Bilbo pulled out his last knife and opened his eyes. He threw it, but it flew wide; Kili spun and drew his sword just in time to slice at it, but it knocked him over, uncaring of the blood running into its eyes. “KILI!” Thorin shouted again, charging; he was knocked backwards by the warg’s head turning towards him, and would have fallen had Bilbo’s grass not caught him mid-fall and pushed him back to balance. Just then a horn sounded, and all the fighters froze except Thorin and Fili, who made quick work of the warg threatening Kili.

“This way, you fools!” Gandalf yelled in the sudden quiet, and the company looked over to see that he had somehow managed to blast a hole in the side of a boulder that led into some sort of cave.

Thorin hauled Kili up to his feet. “To the wizard!” he shouted. “Run!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mai’biri - grow  
> iznêd - grow tall  
> MAIFBIRI! - forward  
> Igribi - attack


	10. Rivendell (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read and see. Trust me, you're in for a treat. Or five. But I don't want to give it away ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REMINDER: Italics, unless otherwise specified in the text, are Thorin and Bilbo communicating telepathically through their bond. Also: THORIN IS YOUNGER THAN CANON. He is 116 instead of nearly 200. This accounts for some of the openness that movie-canon Thorin lacked; He is not quite as jaded. This is originally shown in the chapter "Shadows in the Night".  
> "Gorn marta" - roughly, "shit happens" in elvish
> 
> IMPORTANT ELF INFO: Some elves can literally see bonds. It appears as colored threads/beams of light between the bonded pair for the stronger, wiser elves (Elrond), and colored particles for younger ones with the ability (Elladan/Elrohir). The ability to see them is NOT unique to Elrond and his family, though the ability IS more common with royal bloodlines.

Down a rabbit-hole and safe from danger, the company began walking along a narrow ravine. Given that it was a ravine quite close to the Misty Mountains, Bilbo had a pretty solid idea of where they were heading. He smiled to himself as he walked behind Thorin, despite the fact that his dwarf would likely be incensed once he realized their destination. Bilbo was simply glad for the chance to see his friends again, because this could quite possibly be the last time he ever would.

Whether they died by dragonfire or lived to reclaim Erebor, Bilbo would never again call the kindly west “home.” His true home now stood in front of him; literally and figuratively.

As they passed a gurgling brook, a warm tingle passed through Bilbo’s skin. He smiled wide, knowing for sure that Rivendell lay not far ahead: he had felt that magic every summer since he was a baby.

A few more stretches and turns of rock they traveled through until finally the rock gave way to a steep valley with a clear path, and the evening sunlight cast itself merrily upon white elven structures.

 _At last,_ Bilbo thought to himself giddily. _Imladris._

Thorin on the other hand, was the very _opposite_ of giddy. He gave his One a sharp look for his joy, but did not begrudge him it: Thorin as well knew that this could be Bilbo’s last time here. As such, he formed a thin shield between their emotions. This way he could be irate all he wanted without bothering Bilbo’s happiness, and they could still feel each other’s mind-presence strongly. (Of course, that didn’t mean he would let the meddling wizard off easy for leading them here.)

They wound around the mountain on a thin trail. They were nearing the bridge to enter the elven settlement when Bilbo heard two familiar voices rising on the air, a song poking fun at his dwarves. The pair never made it to the second stanza.

“You rascals!” Bilbo shouted, unsure of where exactly the voices were coming from. Two young, dark haired elves gracefully dropped from a tree not twenty paces away.

“Bilbo!” They yelled, and began charging at him. Thorin and the others laid hands on their weapons, but Bilbo blew past his companions. He was swept up into one of the elves’ arms, spun around once, and then smashed between the two. Merry laughter from the trio rung out loudly in the quiet valley.

Bilbo lightly hit the shoulder of the elf at his front, signaling that he was ready to be put down.

“Who is this?” Thorin demanded, quickly losing control of his temper. He knew that Bilbo was friends with elves, but these _oathbreakers_ were touching his One like...like _family_ , and that was unacceptable. Bilbo had family; his dwarves and those hobbits left in the Shire. Thorin couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of these _elves_ being _allowed_ to fawn all over his One; they didn’t deserve his touch.

A few of these thoughts trickled through to Bilbo, and Thorin was surprised to feel a strong wave of protectiveness emanating from him.

“Thorin, this is Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Elrond.” The twins, and it was so very clear now that they were twins, gave deep bows in unison. Bilbo sent a memory to Thorin, one of Fili and Kili bowing as they introduced themselves. _Give them a chance, Thorin. They are not as different as you think._ “Elladan, Elrohir, this is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, leader of our Company and of the Longbeard Clan.”

Thorin gave a sharp nod in greeting.

Suddenly Elrohir gasped, mouth falling open slightly and eyes going wide. He looked to his twin and made an odd gesture; Elladan tilted his head and within moments he was equally surprised, but carried on the conversation.

“Well, Bilbo, you _have_ been busy since you left us a few months ago! Tell us, what brings your group to Imladris? We were not expecting you until next spring at the earliest!”

Thorin and the other dwarves tensed as their quest was still a relatively secret one, but Bilbo diverted the twins' attention without hesitation. “Please lads, we are road weary and hungry. Might we have dinner and a wash before beginning such a talk? My mother would twist your pointy ears if she were here!” He put his hands on his hips. “Hospitality indeed!”

Both the elves blanched at the idea, and Elladan looked around as if he expected her ghost to appear just to scold them for their manners. “You speak true! Come now, follow us!”

Bilbo smiled and turned back to his dwarves when the boys began crossing the bridge in front of them, their step light and nearly bouncing. Bilbo frowned when he saw that the dwarves’ hands were on their weapons.

“There will be none of that here,” he said quietly yet firmly. “We are their guests, and they are practically kin to me.” Most of the dwarves frowned heavily at that. They had known that Bilbo was friends with elves, but to consider them nearly kin?

“Bilbo…” Thorin growled. The hobbit in question walked up to him and pushed a finger into his chest and locked their eyes.

“Unless you want to be sleeping _alone_ for the next few days, you will _behave._ I know it’s a lot to ask, but these are _not_ Greenwood elves, and in fact tend to dislike them. Keep that in mind, will you?”

Thorin clenched his jaw and gave a short nod. “We will _behave_ so long as they do.”

Bilbo doubted this would be the end of the animosity, but that was a far better reaction than he was expecting. He let out a sigh of relief and grinned. “Well, come on then. There is food to be had, and baths to be taken, and warm beds awaiting us!” He took Thorin’s hand and his grin became brighter: to Thorin’s eyes, it was as if Bilbo and the very air around him glowed for a moment. A wave of relaxation and happiness rolled through his mind, an unintentional spillover from Bilbo’s own. As Bilbo led them over the bridge, holding Thorin’s hand the whole time, the dwarf began to loosen the tight reins he had on the bond and allowed more things to filter through.

They reached a small courtyard, and another, different dark-haired elf appeared.

“My name is-”

“Lindir!” Bilbo laughed, coming up and stopping a few feet from the elf, who eyed the fuming dwarf behind Bilbo. He missed the fact that their hands were linked. Bilbo dropped Thorin’s hand and did a traditional elven greeting, which Lindir returned.

Gandalf stepped forward, interrupting the reunion.

“Where is Lord Elrond?”

Lindir stood tall and shifted slightly on his feet, slightly unnerved by the wizard’s presence. “Lord Elrond is not here.”

“Well then, where is he?” Gandalf asked impatiently.

At that moment a horn sounded, and Lindir’s eyes flicked up and towards the noise. There was the sound of hooves, many hooves, and Thorin shouted two words quickly in Khuzdul. He pulled Bilbo behind him and into the instantly formed circle of dwarves. The elves made a show of prancing their gigantic beasts around the dwarves in an intimidating way that had Thorin ticked off from the start. His blood began to boil: _protect, my Company,_ and _my One_ being the three thoughts at the forefront of his mind. A soothing breeze pushed through his mind, accompanied by a soft:  _Relax, love. There will be no need for bloodshed tonight._

 _You do not know that,_ Thorin practically snarled back. _They used to slit our throats in bed, during war times. We do not forget, and we do not forgive._

Thorin could practically feel Bilbo’s brow furrowing. _And how many centuries ago was that?_

Before a reply could be mustered, Elrond gracefully leapt off his horse and greeted them.

“Ah, Thorin Oakenshield. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I’m sorry, I do not recall meeting you before.” Thorin’s tone was dry and rude. Had they been in private, Bilbo probably would have pinched him. As it were, with dozens of elves around...no, he could pay for that later.

“You have your grandfather’s bearing. I knew Thror when he ruled Under the Mountain.”

“Oh?” The contempt in Thorin’s voice was obvious now. He was unhappy with being compared to his grandfather, though only a few there (including himself) knew that. “I do not recall him ever mentioning _you._ ”

Elrond raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps because he was too proud to listen to my advice, and many of your kin died for it.”

“Enough!” Bilbo cried, stepping forward with a hand on Thorin’s chest and feeling the vibrating anger contained there. “Enough of this.”

“Bilbo?” The elf’s eyebrow rose even higher, though there was a smile to accompany it now. His eyes flicked between the dwarven king and his hobbit friend, analyzing the bright, humming thread of light found there. His other eyebrow joined the first in surprise. “You leave us for a couple months, and come back soul-tied to a dwarf! And not just any dwarf. Thorin Oakenshield, _truly_?” He shook his head, then let out a short laugh. “Your mother would be proud, at least.”

Bilbo’s cheeks grew red. “Well, you know, as they say... _Gorn marta._ And father would be horrified.”

The elvish lord honest-to-god snorted his laugh and there were a few suspicious, sudden coughs in the elvish peanut gallery. “That’s one way to put it. I see that they have already influenced your vocabulary.”

“No, no, that was in Sindarin. It doesn’t count!”

Bilbo missed Elrond’s next statement, something about beds, due to being caught up in the shame he momentarily felt from Thorin. A feeling as strong as that, so quickly cut off, meant that there was definitely a shield between them.

 _What’s this?_ He turned and tried to catch Thorin’s eye, but the dwarf merely glared past him, betraying nothing.

Apparently Elrond had said something to Thorin, because he nodded sharply and they were moving to follow Lindir. Bilbo ignored the twins embracing their father (in human-hug style, because elvish hugs were apparently too impersonal for the lads - Elrond jokingly mourned the time before Estel had arrived) in lieu of trying to “talk” to Thorin.

_Come on now. I felt that, so what was it about?_

_Nothing._ The word was short and snapped.

_I’m not letting this go._

Thorin ground his teeth, and did not answer.

Dinner was a very short, subdued affair; everyone was exhausted from sprinting miles earlier in the day, and were too hungry to talk much.

It was evening when they finally reached their rooms. Thorin had at first insisted on having one room for the entire Company; however, he settled for a hallway where each person and couple could have their own rooms while still being close enough to call for help if it was needed.

The room in which Thorin and Bilbo shared had an excellent view of Rivendell; it looked out across half the settlement, and had a perfect view of the river. Still, Thorin threw his pack down _hard_ once they had scoped out the room. Not a word had been spoken between the two, out loud or otherwise. The dwarf sat down in a surprisingly proportional chair just inside the veranda (apparently a few of the elven rooms had _proper-sized_ furniture) and began running a whetstone down the side of a dagger.

Bilbo sighed, setting down his pack much more gently. He began undressing slowly: slowly because, as each piece came off, he internally bemoaned the damage. He was down to his smalls when he finally gave up on the idea of fixing the items himself. He carried them a few doors down to Dori, far too tired to care about re-dressing himself when he was about to hop in the bath anyways.

When he arrived, the master tailor didn’t mind that he was so undressed: Dori was a professional, after all.

“Bilbo! Ori is in the bath, I’m afraid, but he should be out soon. Unless there is something I can help you with?”

“Ah, well. I am here to see you, actually, and it’s my clothes...you see…” He laid said clothing across the bedspread, and Dori tutted.

“There’s no saving these, I’m afraid. And unfortunately I have never created clothes in hobbit style…” He gnawed on his lip and tapped his chin, arms crossed, thinking.

“That’s what I was afraid of. I don’t want to ask the elves for anything because _clearly_ it would be too big, and I can’t ask any of you for your clothes-” He stopped at the look on Dori’s face.

“Bilbo, you’re King’s Consort, in all but name. Any one of us would be glad to assist in any way we could-”

Bilbo cut him off. “No, no, I won’t hear of it. That’s exactly what I want to avoid; you are my friends. You shouldn’t make sacrifices because I hold a _title_ for goodness sake. A title is made by the person behind it, and I’m just-”

“-Bilbo. You’re Bilbo Baggins, the brave hobbit that has killed trolls, bandits, and has personally saved many of our lives within a couple months. You deserve every honor that can be afforded.”

The hobbit sighed and wiped his hand across his face, not feeling very impressive at all. “Still. What am I to do about clothes, without taking anyone else’s?”

Dori was quiet for a moment, taking the bait and ignoring Bilbo’s issues with his status. It could wait until the coronation, after all. Bilbo was suddenly dizzy, the same thought occurring to him as well - a coronation! What on Arda had he gotten himself into? He was pulled out of his thoughts by Dori’s voice.

“If I can get the materials, I can make you a proper set of traveling clothes. I will have to consult Thorin or Fili if you want to wear chainmail-” “No, absolutely not.” “-But other than that, a week would be long enough for me. If that is acceptable to you?”

Bilbo smiled and nodded in agreement. “That works. But no chainmail!” He wagged his finger back and forth for extra effect.

The dwarf grinned, and a hint of teasing entered his tone. “Our fearless leader may have more to say about that, but as it is. No chainmail.”

Dori reached out his arm and Bilbo went to take his hand for a shake, only to find the dwarf gripping his forearm. “This is a dwarven handshake. You’re one of us now, it’s time you learn our ways.”

“Oh goodness,” Bilbo said as they released their grips. “Have I offended anyone yet?”

“Not too terribly.” The older dwarf winked. “Now off with you! I need to start planning your outfit. I’ll be by tomorrow for your measurements.”

And so Bilbo left, returning to his own rooms and to Thorin, who had yet to move an inch. He shut the door and stood in the doorway for a moment, before deciding that this was ridiculous.

“Up,” he said.

Thorin continued to drag the stone along the metal, eyes not leaving his work. “What do you require?”

Bilbo sputtered. “Require? What I _require_ is…” He stopped himself and took a deep breath. _You to stop being such a brooding ass,_ he thought to himself _._ Thorin was looking for a fight, that much was obvious even without the bond. Bilbo only wished he knew why. _Elves, probably._

Instead of finishing his sentence he decided to take the high-road. He went into the bathroom and drew a warm bath, removing his smalls as he did so. Once that was completed, he rejoined Thorin and moved over to the dwarf, running his fingers over the hopelessly tangled, filthy locks. Thorin looked no less attractive for it, though Bilbo did spare a moment for despair towards his own, lighter hair. 

_Come on, love. Let’s get cleaned up._

Finally the whetstone ceased its movements, and he was met with pale blue eyes. _Changing color indeed,_ he thought to himself, hand dropping from Thorin’s hair. _Always changing. What a paradox._ (A paradox, because dwarves were known for being stubborn as stone and unchanging. He made a mental note to ask Balin and Ori about it. Perhaps it had to do with their bond?)

The fight had left Thorin as soon as the softness and sincerity of Bilbo's voice touched his mind. Weariness took its place. “I am not feeling cold water at the moment.” Thorin’s voice was throatier than usual and his eyes danced around the room, landing anywhere but his naked lover. 

“It’s warm.”

Thorin’s eyes closed, admitting the inevitable. He sat the knife and whetstone down beside his chair and stood. He brought his hands up to unlace the collar of his tunic, but was stopped by soft, warm hands.

“Let me.”

Light filtered in from the outside, slightly orange now that the sun was setting, giving the room and it’s occupants a sepia tint. Thorin stopped avoiding his One’s hazel eyes and instead sought them out as his tunic was loosened. He watched the gentle concentration in Bilbo’s eyes as he was revealed to him, eyes tracing the same lines they had seen dozens of times...yet the feeling coming through the bond was still awe. It warmed Thorin inside...then he remembered the Sindarin, the elvish laughter, and he was cold again, unsure. His belt was undone and laid over the chair. Next came his tunic, then pants and undershirt. Bilbo took a moment to slowly run his hands over Thorin’s shoulders, thumbing his collarbones and taking in the definition and scars to be found. Thorin made to pull away, the gentleness too much for him at the moment; but Bilbo caught him with his left arm around his waist, hand splayed at his lower back. (Of course, had Thorin truly wanted to pull away, he could have. Bilbo had no reservations about his lack of strength compared to Thorin.) His right hand came up to cup Thorin’s cheek, thumb slowly stroking his beard.

“What’s this about?” Bilbo’s voice was soft and inquisitive. Thorin sighed and leaned his forehead against Bilbo’s, hands coming to rest on Bilbo’s hips.

_I did not appreciate being mocked earlier._

Bilbo frowned, though kept their foreheads together. _Mocked?_

 _Aye. When you spoke to Elrond, who clearly did not approve of us...the saying in elvish that made the other elves laugh. I know I am not the bond-mate you were expecting, but I thought that you were happy enough that you would not laugh at me with others...especially elves. There is little I can do in our situation to show how much you mean to me, but I have tried. I’m…_ Thorin took a moment to swallow his pride. He seemed to be doing that far more than usual, but for the first time in his life he had something that was truly _h_ _is,_ and he refused to ruin it. _I’m not very good at this._

Bilbo let out a breath. _Thorin, it wasn’t mocking or laughing at you. The phrase I said was, “shit happens.” I don’t think he disagrees with our match, he was just surprised. I sincerely doubt he expected his hobbit friend to get hitched to a well-known dwarven king, after all. Especially so soon after we last saw each other and I told him I was sure I would never have a bond. I am extremely happy with you, I’ll have you know. Happier than I’d have been with any hobbit, that’s for sure! I don’t want anyone else. I’m glad it was you, so stop this nonsense._

Thorin nuzzled Bilbo’s nose, pure relief singing along the bond as the previous shame was forgotten. The nuzzling made the hobbit laugh gently and he nuzzled back. _You thought you would live this life alone?_ Thorin questioned.

_Yes. You did take awhile to appear, I must say. I had nearly given up hope!_

Thorin kissed him gently. _I waited over a century for you...There is always hope, ghivashel._

Bilbo’s “voice” was sarcastic as he replied. _Yes, and that’s why we’re off to steal from a dragon._

Thorin chuckled and took his hand, leading him to the bathroom. _Aye, and you agreed to be my burglar. Though, I never expected you to steal my heart as well._

_Aww, look at you, you sap._

Thorin, revitalized by his lover's playful mood, retaliated by quickly sweeping Bilbo off his feet and dropping him into the large tub, water splashing out the edges. Bilbo came up sputtering, “Thorin!” Thorin laughed as he took off his smalls and joined his love in the tub, settling down behind him. He gave a loud groan as his muscles relaxed in the water. Bilbo lightly pinched his leg under the water.

“I’ll get you back for that.”

“Mmmph.” Thorin wrapped his arms around Bilbo’s waist, and they took a moment to rest in the warmth of the bath. A few minutes passed before Bilbo reached for the soap and a washcloth; once he had it, he lathered it and began washing himself. Thorin wordlessly took it from him, and began dragging the cloth up his One’s arms. Bilbo leaned back into Thorin’s chest and smiled, holding his arm above the water for Thorin’s attentions.

“Now this, this I could get used to,” Bilbo sighed happily.

Thorin’s lips quirked. “I as well.” Once Bilbo’s upper body was clean, he passed the cloth back so Bilbo could wash his legs. The dwarf smiled lazily and laid his head back against the tub when he felt Bilbo washing his legs, too.

“You seem to be better at cleaning me than yourself.”

“You’re only saying that because it’s faster for you; you wear long pants and boots, after all. I’ve got, what, nearly two weeks of road on my feet?”

A thought came to Thorin. “Are hobbits able to wear boots? I know your soles are thick, but there are many nasty things on the road; broken blades, nails, and the like. I do not think your feet are impenetrable.”

Bilbo paused, cloth and hand resting on Thorin’s calf. “I’m not sure. Perhaps? In the Shire it’s unthinkable. One of my Took cousins ran off once and came back with a pair, though.” He finished washing Thorin’s leg and carefully turned around in the tub. He began washing Thorin’s shoulders, pausing only for a peck on the lips. “You should have heard the screaming.”

Thorin’s eyebrows raised. “Screaming?” The cloth made its way down his chest now, clearing the dirt from his skin and chest hair.

“Oh yes. Quite a few hobbits fainted in shock, you see. It’s a scandalous business, wearing shoes.”

Thorin’s voice dropped slightly. “As scandalous as running off with a company of dwarves and bonding with their king?”

Bilbo gave him an amused and unimpressed look as the washcloth dipped under the water to wash Thorin’s torso. “Not nearly. If they had any idea the things I’ve been up to-” He cut himself off with a laugh. “I don’t care, really. I’m...more myself than I ever have been, I think.”

“Oh?”

“My whole life, I’ve always felt like…Like I’ve been waiting for something, I suppose.” He was quiet for a moment, focusing his eyes on Thorin's body and the task before him, before suddenly blurting: “Do dwarves have divination?”

Thorin was caught off guard by the random question, and grunted in response when he felt the cloth cleaning his privates. Bilbo winked at him once he was done, knowing he had rendered him speechless with just that small action. “Cheeky,” Thorin ground out.

“You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

Thorin’s expression was fond. “True. But yes, we do have divination. We have a couple Seers in every generation, though I know nothing beyond that. It was never something I had time for.”

“Understandable.”

The next ten minutes passed in silence as they washed each other’s hair, seven of the ten being devoted to Thorin’s mane. Once that was done they washed any spots they had missed (Thorin in particular, as he had hopes for the night) and exited the tub. They looked at the now-murky water.

“Well, that’s gross,” Bilbo commented.

Thorin grunted in agreement, and wrapped a towel around his One. They dried, then Bilbo lead them back into the bedroom. The sun had nearly disappeared by now, and he lit the oil lamp on the bedside table. Right as he had adjusted the wick and flame to where he wanted it, strong arms wrapped around him from behind, pressing his back against a barrel chest.

“Come to bed with me,” Thorin murmured into his neck, kissing the skin gently.

Bilbo laid his arms over Thorin’s and leaned back into his lover, laying his head at an angle on Thorin’s shoulder so he would have better access. “What, did you think I was going to sleep outside? I’m elf-friend you know, not an actual elf.”

Thorin huffed a laugh, and his words were slightly muffled by the skin beneath his lips. “Thank goodness for that. I wouldn’t be able to cope if you were.”

Bilbo’s laughter rang out, the merriest noise Thorin had ever heard. Oh, how he loved that laugh. He palmed Bilbo’s stomach and frowned, desire momentarily put aside for worry. Bilbo felt the shift and turned around in his arms, hands on Thorin’s perma-warm chest.  

“Is it safe for you to lose weight like this?”

Bilbo shrugged. “I doubt there’s anything wrong with it. We hobbits burn calories faster than the other races, which is why we eat so many meals.” He did the nose twitch that Thorin found terribly adorable. “We could probably get away with a couple less, truth be told, though we still do need to eat that much if we want to stay heavier. Some of the farmers are fit, of course, from laboring in the fields. That normally changes when their children take over the hard labor.”

“Are you...alright with the changes?”

Bilbo grinned. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?” Thorin looked as if he was going to argue, and Bilbo stopped him with a brief kiss. “It’s fine. Really. It’s all fine to me. I’ve never cared too terribly much about my weight. Oh! I almost forgot to mention…” He trailed off and opened the memory of talking to Dori in the bond.

Thorin smiled softly. “You will look a vision in our style, I am sure.”

“Oh, were my old clothes not up to the expectations of the great Thorin Oakenshield? Goodness me, what was I thinking, prancing about in my proper hobbit attire!”Thorin rolled his eyes, and Bilbo giggled at the expression.

“You look ravishing no matter what you wear.”

“Flatterer.”

Thorin pulled Bilbo tight against him, letting him feel the hardness against his hip. His voice dropped, accent making an appearance. “But you’d look better in my colors. Do you know how often I’ve daydreamed about that? With a silver crown of oak leaves, made from my own hand?”

“Mmm, that sounds lovely. But I thought you were a blacksmith?”

Thorin smirked. “I am a dwarf of many talents.” Bilbo scoffed playfully. “But first and foremost, I am a master silversmith.”

“I’m glad that, weeks after being fully bound, you finally decide to tell me something as basic as your main craft.” Thorin rolled his eyes again, much to Bilbo’s delight. It was such a _loose_ expression on his usually stern face. (Or resting bitch face, if you asked Bofur.) “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say your ego was to overcompensate for lacking in the bedroom.”

Bilbo whimpered as Thorin grabbed his arse and pulled him up, their erections grinding together wonderfully. Thorin’s voice was hot in his ear. “But you know better.”

“Aye.” Bilbo brought their mouths together at last, a kiss that was all slick lips and heat.

_Fasak, Bilbo. You’ve no idea how hot is it, you using our words._

Bilbo ran his tongue across the Thorin’s bottom lip, and Yavanna save him, Thorin _moaned._ Sure he had heard it a hundred times by now, but it never stopped being unbearably sexy. Thorin opened his mouth and allowed the hobbit to dance around his tongue, tasting and expertly navigating each curve of his mouth. A few moments later Bilbo sucked hard on the tip of his tongue, and Thorin instantly _knew_ what his One wanted. Pushing into Bilbo’s mouth and tightening his grip on the hobbit’s arse, he returned the favor and quickly had his lover quivering.

Thorin pulled back just enough to where their lips were no longer touching but their foreheads were, and pale blue sought dark hazel. Both of their pupils were blown and they were breathing hard, flush against each other. Bilbo could only imagine the picture they made.

“Bed?” Bilbo asked throatily, barely recognizing his own voice. Thorin’s only response was to pick him up around the waist and carry him to the bed while thoroughly kissing him. He sat down on bed, Bilbo straddling him.

They both groaned at the feeling of their cocks pushing together, and Bilbo’s hands found their way into Thorin’s hair. Bilbo nipped at his One’s lower lip and pulled lightly on the raven strands: Thorin took it as a challenge. Removing his lips from the hobbit’s, he began to kiss down the left side of his neck, before back up and reaching his ear.

“Brace yourself.” It was a deep, throaty warning that made Bilbo shiver to the core. He bit his lip and whimpered when Thorin traced the pointed ear with his tongue. He made sure to lick around every millimeter of the shiny-clean cuff, nose buried in damp curls. When he reached the tip, Thorin sucked and Bilbo cried out.

Head tilted to the side so Thorin would have better access, Bilbo ground down, needing more of that delicious skin-on-skin friction. He made a noise every time they ground together, and soon felt as if he was blending into Thorin, and Thorin into him. When Thorin switched to his other ear and nipped at his earlobe, breathing lightly over it, he shivered. On the right side the dwarf kissed down Bilbo’s neck, sucking and licking a path, even as his hand massaged the lobe of the left ear.

Thorin dropped his lips to Bilbo’s bare shoulder, working on small areas by sucking strongly until it was almost painful and then soothing it with his tongue. (Perk three-hundred and fifty-four of the bond was that they knew _exactly_ when pleasure was turning into pain.) Once he had Bilbo reduced to a quivering mess (and thoroughly marked as his, albeit discreetly), he reached down and took Bilbo’s cock in hand.

“Ah!” cried Bilbo, leaning back so his lover could have better access. Thorin’s left arm instinctively moved to encircle his hobbit, ensuring he wouldn’t fall. “Please Thorin,” he begged, arching his back, “I can’t take it, I need you to - oh, _oh._ ” Thorin brushed his thumb over the head of the burglar’s cock, feeling the precum there.

“You are perfect,” whispered Thorin. He collected saliva in his mouth before removing his hand and slicking the palm. Now with something to ease the friction, he continued stroking Bilbo and leaned forward to kiss him deeply.

Thorin’s mind was lost, spinning through the bright sky that was Bilbo. Their edges were blurring for Bilbo as well, but for a moment Thorin felt as if it was _his own_ cock being stroked. Groaning into Bilbo’s mouth as he quickened his strokes, he _felt_ Bilbo’s finish nearing. A few more pulls and Bilbo threw his head back, breaking their kiss and crying out Thorin’s name. Thorin turned his head and sucked the lobe of Bilbo’s ear, and the burglar’s world shattered, seeing white. Thorin pulled back so he could see Bilbo finish. For a moment Bilbo was both himself and his One, fully seated in Thorin’s mind (while still feeling his own body) and seeing himself through Thorin’s eyes.

Bilbo’s markings flashed bright as he came, the first time they had popped up all night. His brow was tight in pleasure, eyes as deep as the mines of Khazad-Dum and his newly-dry curls glinting in the lamplight like gold. How he could _ever_ have thought he was unattractive to dwarves was beyond Thorin, because he was an absolute _vision_.

When the orgasm subsided (along with his markings), Bilbo dropped his forehead against Thorin’s, who was already cleaning him with a damp linen that had been in a bowl on the bedside table.

“That was…” he shook his head slightly, keeping his head against Thorin who chuckled. “Well, really,” he huffed, trying to get his bearings. “There are never words to describe you.”

Thorin smirked at the compliment. Bilbo pulled back and put his hand, which had been causing all sorts of mess to Thorin’s hair, to the king’s cheek. He felt a wave of what felt like warm water pulse from his hand to the king, and Thorin nuzzled into it.

Thorin’s eyes were bright in the lamplight, though his pupils were blown wide. His raven hair was mussed royally, lips kiss-swollen and red, and Bilbo knew he had never seen anything more gorgeous. He beyond glad that the feeling was mutual. He stood shakily and pushed Thorin back. His dwarf immediately scooted up to the top of the bed, stopping only to put the pillow behind his head. Partially sitting up against the headboard he watched his One. Bilbo was languid in his afterglow, draping himself over Thorin and slowly kissing his way down his chest. Thorin’s desire was as steady as the rock his cock was currently emulating. When Bilbo had finished licking the “v” of Thorin’s torso he stopped, raised on a single elbow above Thorin’s crotch.

“Tell me, love,” Bilbo began. Thorin hissed as Bilbo placed a soft kiss to the head of his cock, tongue flicking out momentarily. “How do you want me?” Thorin’s eyes traced Bilbo’s jawline and soft, kiss-swollen lips, up to his red, slightly chafed cheeks and finally resting on dark hazel eyes.

 _Thank you Mahal,_ he prayed silently. _My one is more handsome than I could have ever imagined._

This time Bilbo licked a stripe up his cock, making him fist his hand in the sheets. He was so hard he was _aching._

“I asked you a question, dear. How - do - you - want - me?” He punctuated each word with a kiss or lick.

“In me,” Thorin managed.

Bilbo was surprised. Though they had discussed it after their first time, they had never tried it this way. “Are you sure? I know we haven’t-”

 _“Bilbo,”_ Thorin groaned, truly not in the mood for conversation. He bared himself to Bilbo through the bond. “I am sure. Take me.”

Bilbo’s eyes closed and their markings flared to life for a moment before disappearing again. “Ahh,” he gasped. “Okay, okay, I’m-” He cut himself off and grabbed for the blessedly convenient vial of oil on the bedside table. Within moments he was coating his fingers and tracing Thorin’s opening.

Thorin was on fire. He was sure that there must have been something in that bath water, because truly, it could not be normal to be this _hot._ He felt as if the very forges of Mahal had been ignited inside his veins. Then Bilbo pushed a finger into him, and the world _stopped._ “Bilbo,” he rasped. “More, please Mahal, _more._ ”

Bilbo sucked him down and began thrusting his hand at the same time, curling his finger in search of the spot that would give Thorin the most pleasure. After a very short amount of time he added a second finger, giving in to Thorin’s borderline begging emotions that bombarded him through the bond, nearly shoving it in in his urgency. This happened to be the moment he found the spot he had been seeking. Thorin shouted in pleasure, loud enough that someone probably heard from the open veranda. Neither thought about that fact, though they wouldn’t have cared anyways. Thorin’s markings were slightly lit; more of a soothing buzz of color than the bright flash from Bilbo’s earlier orgasm.

 _“Yes,”_ He gasped. “Please, ghivashel.”

Bilbo released his cock for a moment to twist his fingers in a way that made Thorin _keen._ “You’re very polite when you want something in bed,” Bilbo commented.

“Were you - rather I - rude?” Thorin ground out.

Bilbo gave him a lopsided grin. “On the contrary. I enjoy it. Hobbits are keen on their manners, if you recall.”

Thorin glared at him, and in retaliation Bilbo slipped in a third finger. Thorin’s back arched and he pushed down against his hand, trying to take more.

“I’m ready,” Thorin gasped.

Bilbo smirked. “I’m ready, what?”

Thorin’s voice was strained. “For your cock, you utter _tease!_ ”

“That’s not the word I’m looking for. Close, though.”

Thorin pushed himself up onto his elbows and gave his One a scathing look. “Really? You are three fingers deep in a _king_ , one that’s begging for you, and _that_ is your response?”

Bilbo just raised an eyebrow. “Still waiting.”

Thorin let out a long-suffering sigh. “Please?”

“Is that a question or a statement?”

And that was it. Thorin hauled him up and flipped them, so within seconds Bilbo found himself flat on his back with a heavy dwarf astride him, his wrists restrained by one of Thorin’s hands.

 _“Gorn,”_ Bilbo cursed. Thorin smirked, then ground his slick ass across Bilbo’s _very_ interested cock. Bilbo moaned at the sensation. “I thought you wanted me on top?”

“You took too long.”

Bilbo’s mouth dropped open, then he was indignant. “Come on, Thorin, let’s be reasonable here. It was just a bit of flirting!”

“Flirting.” Thorin’s voice was flat, with a face that said he was buying none of what Bilbo was selling.

“Yes! We do it all the time, if you hadn’t noticed.” He huffed. “Not that this isn’t lovely, don’t get me wrong, but I had hoped for a bit more control the first time I take you.”

“No more dallying.”

“Fine.”

“Swear it.”

“Oh for goodness - Yes, fine Thorin, I swear that as soon as you let me up I will fuck you.”

Thorin kissed him hard in response, then released him. They switched positions again and Bilbo settled in the juncture of his thighs instantly, coating his cock with the leftover oil on his hand. Thankfully, he had been liberal enough with it in preparation that it was just enough.

Oh, how he wished he was tall enough to kiss Thorin in this position.

Thorin’s thick thighs came up to bracket Bilbo’s waist, legs long enough to wrap completely around the hobbit’s hips. Bilbo reached down briefly to position himself, rubbing the head against Thorin’s slick hole a few times.

_Look at me, love._

Blue eyes, nearly black from expanded pupils, met dark hazel, and Bilbo pushed his hips forward slowly. He gasped as the head of his cock was immediately sucked into Thorin’s ready body, and Thorin made a choked noise, mouth dropping open. His hands grasped at Bilbo’s back, fingertips pressing into his skin at his shoulder blades and dragging them down to his lower back. His eyes were wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed above his raven beard, and his bright blue markings formed a crown. Bilbo’s lit up as well, bright green and equally crown-like in it’s formation.

The tightness was nearly unbearable to Bilbo, and later he would wonder if Thorin had ever been taken in such a manner before. No tumble with any Shire lasses or lads could have prepared him it, nor for the utter _heat_ that was his dwarf. It burned his cock just-so in a delicious manner as he pushed his hips forward slowly, letting Thorin feel every inch. When he finally bottomed out, he was rewarded with a deep moan and the visual of Thorin biting his lower lip. Their markings flared to life as they became one: and truly, they were one being in this moment.

 _I love you,_ Bilbo gasped out, his “voice” ringing clear. The lines of reality blurred, and the only clear thing in existence was each other. Bilbo began a steady pace, burying himself to the hilt before pulling almost all the way out again. He reveled in the heat at his hips where Thorin’s lower body wrapped around him, the fingertips digging into his back, the forge of Thorin’s chest pressing against his own.

 _“Maralmizu! Maralmizu, hikhthuzul. Melekûn, givashel, azyungelê…”_ Thorin’s inner and outer voice was reverent as he heaped his love with praise and adoration, all previous irritation long forgotten. Bilbo shivered: hearing Thorin’s voice in reality was damning enough, all deep and rumbly, but to hear it twice over in his mind was a next-level experience.

Thorin still felt like he was on fire; around him, in him, at every point where he and Bilbo touched. His mind was encompassed by _Bilbo_ , and nothing else in the entire world existed. It was bliss, it was perfection; it was making love in its purest form. The threads of magic and truth that connected them thickened, until it was very nearly a tangible thing possible to behold with the naked eye.

The first time they had laid together they had been creatures of passion, consumed by a raging fire: now the inferno burned within, but it was a fire of worship. They were set alight in the candlelight, sure and steady in the night.

Bilbo came first, burying himself as deep into Thorin as he could go with a _“Fasak, Thorin,”_ to accompany it. Thorin clenched around him every few moments, milking out as much from Bilbo’s orgasm as he could. Bilbo bit into Thorin’s shoulder as he rode it out and Thorin groaned, bucking up in a wordless plea for more. Luckily for him, Bilbo wasn’t out for the count yet.

“Fuck me,” Thorin commanded. Bilbo’s cock twitched - or would have, were it not still buried balls deep in Thorin - at the demand. There were few things sexier to him than a partner who knew what they wanted, and weren’t afraid to ask for it. Bilbo thought he had quite possibly died and gone to the fields of Yavanna when Thorin continued with, “Fuck me with your own come. I want to feel the slickness, I need you, need me to take me hard, I’m so _close_ -”

His words cut off when Bilbo’s hips snapped forward of their own volition.

 _Hold yourself wide,_ Bilbo commanded. Thorin immediately obeyed and oh, oh, that was it. He felt himself slide even deeper into Thorin, and Thorin gasped, eyes rolling back as he just _felt._ Bilbo’s hand encircled his length and Thorin became frantic, bucking and speeding up the pace even further. His short, blunt fingernails dug into the soft skin behind his knees as he tried to take Bilbo as deep as possible. Having his One so deep within was very nearly a religious experience, and far more pleasurable than he had imagined it would be. 

This time, Thorin came first. A great, shuddering groan was wrenched from his throat as he came across both his and Bilbo’s torsos. Bilbo finished immediately after, unable to hold back with Thorin so tight and perfect, with Thorin’s orgasm ripping through the bond and shattering his control.

Once they had caught their breath they separated slowly, and Thorin gave a grunt as Bilbo slipped out of him. Immediately they were wrapped around each other on their sides, kissing slow and sweet until it became too much for their exhausted bodies and they settled for nuzzling.

“I meant it earlier, you know,” Bilbo murmured.

“Mmm? Meant what?”

Bilbo’s heart pounded as he repeated himself from earlier. “I love you.”

Thorin smiled warmly, content to his very bones. “I love you, too. I said it, but I’m afraid it may have been in Khuzdul.”

They chuckled together and within minutes they were blissfully asleep, Bilbo's head tucked beneath Thorin's head as they were made to fit. Only lovely dreams would visit them that night.

*********************

The week in Imladris were best described as _nice._ While the dwarves made use of the forges and training areas, Bilbo and Ori found themselves most often in the library. This was one of the few days when Bilbo had gone alone, and as such, it was not surprising that one of their number sought him out. What _was_ surprising was that he had not heard or seen anyone sneaking up on him.

“So, Bilbo, have you thought about your courting gifts for uncle?”

Bilbo jumped and spun, hand flying to his chest, only to see Fili standing in the corridor not ten feet from him. “Goodness! I had no idea you could be so _quiet!_ ”

The young dwarrow laughed. “Of course we can be quiet! To be fair, we normally don’t care enough to try. Kili is even lighter on his feet, if you’ll believe it. But no question dodging!”

Bilbo shook his head and smiled before gesturing for Fili to walk with him. Side by side they went down the elven hall, headed toward the dining hall for lunch.

“Now what’s this talk about courting gifts? Thorin and I have already bonded.”

Fili look at him like he had grown a second head. “So?”

“So…” Bilbo dragged out the “o.”

“It’s tradition. To not do gifts when you have the opportunity is...is…” Fili said a word in Khuzdul and gnawed on his lip for a few seconds. “There isn’t a direct translation. A mix of shameful and disgraceful, in direct reference to the treatment of your One.”

Bilbo stopped. “Truly, it’s that bad?”

Fili nodded sagely. “Oh yes. Absolutely dishonorable. I know Thorin has been working on yours since the first night we arrived, but I never saw you working on anything so I thought I’d ask.”

They resumed walking. “Honestly, I didn’t think that gifts would be exchanged between us, especially since we are currently on the road to face a drake. But as a matter of fact, I have been working on something. Do you want to see it after lunch?”

Fili smiled wide. “Definitely! I won’t say a word to Thorin. Can Kili come too? He won’t say anything either, I promise!”

Bilbo smiled indulgently. “Alright. But if he finds out, you are the first dwarf I’m coming for!”

“So be it!”

Lunch was normally a simple affair, held in the same area that they had dined their first night. Bilbo was nearly to the landing and could see Bofur entertaining the Company and surrounding elves by juggling candlesticks. Bilbo wondered who on Arda thought throwing around flaming candles was acceptable mere feet from food...What if they set the table on fire? He shuddered to think of a good meal gone to waste.

As he walked forward towards the table there was a jerk in his gut, then an empty heaviness in his mind where Thorin should be. His vision went blurry.

*****************

The elf was persistent, Thorin would give her that. Twice now he had declined her offers and made swift escapes, though today she had become even bolder. She approached him while he was distracted, thinking of Erebor and watching his company be merry from the sidelines. So far, it had taken every single shred of his patience to not lash out at her or - preferably - run her through with his sword. (And not the sword she wanted.)

“King Thorin, a pleasure to see you again.”

Thorin came back to reality sharply. Had he not been so well-trained in schooling his face (diplomacy above all else), he would have been snarling.

“I have asked you to leave me alone.”

“Well of course!” she tossed back her mane of shining, dark hair. “We are safe to speak now, though. Your Company is well preoccupied.” She took a step towards him and touched his shoulder. A burning rage flew through his veins and he slammed a heavy shield around the bond, unknowingly affecting Bilbo’s vision momentarily from the strength of it. He jerked away from her and _did_ snarl. So much for diplomacy.

“I have _kindly_ told you no, twice now, out of respect for Bilbo. Cease this hopeless lust you carry; even if I were not already spoken for, I would _never_ lay with you. Leave me be,” he growled.

Marielle, as that was her name, frowned. “Why? Do you not find me fair? I am small for an elf, and all have complimented my looks at some point. It is not commitment that I seek. You should stop pretending to dislike what you see, my lord. Surely you do not find the _halfling_ more comely than I. Why, he doesn’t even have-”

 _“ENOUGH.”_ Thorin snarled. “He is not _half_ of anything, and is _far_ more comely than you could ever hope to be!”

Her next motion surprised Thorin so much that his shields fell.  

A slender hand grabbed one of his braids and surrounding hair, jerking it back extremely painfully; a knife was in her other hand, coming towards the braid -

Thorin shouted and suddenly Bilbo was _there,_ having felt the fear before hearing the shout _._

He delivered a solid kick to the back of the elf’s left knee. His hands shoved her shoulders straight down with a strength that none knew he possessed; in her surprise, she let go of Thorin and the knife. She hit the polished marble hard, knees shuddering the floor from impact. Now on the same level, he jerked Marielle’s head back by her long mane of charcoal hair and picked up her small knife, immediately pressing it against her exposed throat. In the background, the sound of candlesticks and instruments clattering to the floor was piercing.

 _“How dare you touch him,”_ he seethed in her ear, an anger he had never known narrowing his vision to naught but the elf in front of him. “What do you have to say in your defense?” When she did not immediately reply, he pushed the knife until it bit into her skin, drawing a thin line of blood. “Speak!” he yelled, and she flinched.

Marielle took a moment to wet her lips before replying.

“He spurned me,” she said simply.

“As he _should,_ because he is _mine_ ,” Bilbo hissed venomously, his throwing knife pressing a little harder. A small trickle of blood began running down her neck to disappear into her collar. “That was _never_ up for debate. And how dare you approach him more than once! I should slit your throat!” Decision made, Bilbo tensed, ready to pull the knife through her neck like butter.

The only thing that saved her life was Balin’s frantic voice.

“Steady, Bilbo! Remember yourself!” he called with an outstretched hand held low, recognizing the burning in the hobbit’s eyes as an occurrence thought only to belong to dwarves: Ukhzuru-Hugrel, otherwise known as the Rage of Right.

Dark hazel eyes flicked to the white-bearded dwarf before closing, reigning in the anger to a _slightly_ more manageable level. When they opened, they still glared murder. The possessive look and bearing that Bilbo held was perfectly completed by his new, Durin-blue tunic, which was done in dwarven style with silver geometric embroidering around the hem and sleeves. The undershirt and pants were navy blue, bordering on black, just like Thorin's.

 _Fitting,_ Balin thought. _He looks like one of us, and he is one of us. There is no doubt. Especially now._

“Bilbo,” Thorin finally spoke, massaging the side of his head in an attempt to ease the pain. “Mizimel, come back to me.”

“I _am_ here, Thorin,” Bilbo spat. “I saw her. You heard her. She sought to–to–and your _braid-_ ” He gritted his teeth, hand shaking slightly from the urge to slit her throat.

“Listen to your king, laddie. The fool has no idea what braids mean to us, nor the adultery laws.” Dwalin’s gruff voice was begrudging, as though he didn’t his own advice, and Bilbo considered his words due to that tone.

Marielle let out a gurgling laughed, stupidly drawing Bilbo’s attention to her. It was hard to accomplish a normal one with her neck in such a precarious position. “King?” she questioned condescendingly and through gritted teeth, “He is not your king, child. You are a halfling, and therefore you have no king!” She grinned triumphantly, already thinking of the ways Lord Elrond would punish him for daring to put his hands on her.

Bilbo let out a short, mirthless laugh as he adjusted his grip on the blade. It was quite a chilling noise, coming from such a kind person like him. When he spoke his voice was as sharp as his blade, and just as dangerous. “Well, you have half of that right. I am a hobbit, true, and thus I was born under no king or lord. However this merely makes me a free agent, meaning I may swear loyalty to whomever I wish…” His grip on her tightened as he moved his eyes to hold Thorin’s worried gaze, his voice firm and loud.

“And I have chosen my bonded, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, Leader of the Longbeard Clan, and direct descendant of Durin.”

Gasps from two races accompanied his words, three if you count the Maiar. Gandalf had been watching on the edge of his seat, mirroring Elrond, and the only thing keeping him from intervening was the fact that he _knew_ Bilbo understood the weight of his words, despite his infuriated state. Also he knew that Bilbo would eventually have to declare Thorin as his king to rule beside him. Still…he and the others had gasped because bonded or not, declaring someone as your king was dangerous when you were lucky enough to be unaffiliated. Even Elrond could not keep his shock hidden. He looked to Gandalf, knowing that his elf was in the wrong and there was nothing he could do even if he wanted to. The wizard gave him a look that said, ‘She messed up and now she has to deal with it.’ Elrond made a quick glance at Bilbo and back to Gandalf, but the wizard simply shrugged.

Ignoring the mutterings and whispers around them, Bilbo looked to Thorin. “So she just gets away with it?” He caressed her neck with the blade and shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. My king _,_ is there no punishment for trying to take your braid? For touching that which does not belong to her?”

Thorin stared at him for a moment as he restarted his heart, and in turn his brain. Bilbo had just declared him his king. Bilbo was under the full effect of dwarven jealousy, and it was _glorious._ Worrisome, but _glorious._

_You have no idea what it does to me, you calling me your king._

A flicker of amusement filtered through the bond from Bilbo. _Oh, but I do._

“Hair,” Thorin decided, clearing his throat. “Take her hair. As she is not my subject, we may not maim or take her life.” Bilbo smiled grimly, unappeased by the judgement but accepting there was nothing either of them could change about it. As an afterthought, Thorin looked towards Lord Elrond. “If this is agreeable?” The elf nodded shortly and waved his hand in acquiesce.

A mental nod from Thorin let Bilbo know to proceed. “As my _king_ says.”

Bilbo moved swiftly, bringing the blade around from her throat to her hair and sawing off the length within seconds. A loud keening came from the elf beneath him and he let her go, straightening his back and leaving her to claw at the remaining uneven tresses. He carried the spoils and walked forward to Thorin. He kneeled and presented the hair. He tilted his head and smirked darkly.

“Your honor is upheld, your highness.”

Instead of taking the hair, Thorin cupped his soft cheek with a calloused hand. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost a growl. “Rise. You need not kneel to me.” Near-silent gasps and a few choking noises came from the Company, for even the bonded of kings were not normally seen as complete equals. Elrond gave up on propriety and gaped openly, while Gandalf gave a small, impressed grin. “For your quick actions, you have the choice to do what you will with it. I assume you know the meaning behind each option?” Bilbo nodded and Thorin dropped his hand as he stood.

_Actually, no. Educate me?_

Thorin resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his One. _Keeping it means you own her honor, and may use it against her in the future. Giving it to me means the same, but the ownership is mine. Burning it removes any and all honor she may have held before._

While they spoke silently to each other, to the outsider’s view, it appeared as though Bilbo was considering his options.

The king sucked in a deep breath when Bilbo turned his back and walked towards a nearby brazier. Dropping it in, the only noise was that of Marielle’s sobbing and crackling hair. Bilbo had chosen to burn it. Many elven voices raised in protest, looking to their Lord, but Elrond was busy speaking in low tones to Gandalf. Besides, he had already agreed to what Thorin proposed.

*****************************

“It is very surprising to me, how Oakenshield treats Bilbo.”

Gandalf raised an eyebrow over his goblet, before gently placing it back on the table and replying. “In what way?”

Elrond took a moment to reply, eyes far away as he ran his finger along the rim of his silver cup. “He treats him as an equal. A true equal. To the point of declaring in front of dozens of witnesses - including my kin and I, and there is no love lost there - that Bilbo was not to bow to him. It’s highly disconcerting…” He trailed off for a moment, lost in memories hundreds of years old. “It’s highly disconcerting for _any_ king to do so, of any race. Yet I cannot recall a single time that a dwarven king treated their consort as such. Furthermore, Thorin is the grandson of Thror, and...well, perhaps if you knew Thror and his forefathers as I did, you would understand.”

Gandalf frowned and stood. “No, you are right. It is very unusual.” He crossed the veranda and leaned against the banister. A few minutes later Elrond joined him, handing a goblet to the wizard while sipping on his own.

“Ah, thank you my friend.” A sip of the red wine had Gandalf’s thoughts clearing. _An excellent year,_ he thought absentmindedly before returning to the conversation at hand. “I believe the most important thing to remember is that Thorin is not his grandfather, nor his forefathers.” Elrond rolled his eyes (an immature feat that none of the dwarves would believe him capable of) and scoffed. Gandalf frowned at the motion, and a bit of firmness entered his tone. “He has made that abundantly clear over and over again. I do not only mean the fact that he is physically a different person. We must always remember that Thorin was raised far differently than the rest of his line, and as such, was battle-tested before he was of age. I shudder to think how disrespectful Men were towards his kin and craft, and I doubt he ever got a fair deal, but he carried on doing it.” There was a pause. “Do you know what Thror had planned for them after the sacking of Erebor, and why Thrain agreed to retaking Moria?”

Elrond tilted his head and shifted his gaze away from his home and to the wizard, curious, as this was not a tale he had heard before. “No, I do not.”

Gandalf finished his wine and reached out, wordlessly offering to refill Elrond’s glass. The elven lord handed it over, and a minute later they stood as they had before. Though Elrond was burning with curiosity, he waited until Gandalf finished half his cup and continued.

“This does not leave us. Since the dwarves of Erebor were homeless and unable to build a new one - unable to even feed themselves properly, if truth be told - Thror had decided there were only two options left. Regaining Moria, and pillaging towns and cities of Men, no doubt risking full-out war in the process.”

Elrond’s eyebrows were attempting to meet his hairline. “Impossible! Thror may have been mad, but that would have been pure suicide!”

Gandalf nodded gravely. “Indeed. The dwarves of Erebor would have been slaughtered. Yet, he believed that their previous status entitled them to riches, whether or not it was theirs to begin with. There is more to this story, however.”

“Then please continue. I am interested in how this connects to Thorin. I assume it does, as that was our original topic?”

“Oh, yes. Very much indeed. Something that you must know is that Thrain agreed with Thror. Despite the fact that gold sickness had never touched his mind, they were desperate.”

Elrond shook his head, looking troubled. “Truly? I expected more from him.”

“I am afraid to say it, but yes. He had fallen far.”

The elf raised a suspicious, angular eyebrow. “And how exactly do you know all this? Surely Oakenshield has not told you so himself.”

Gandalf smiled grimly. “I was there. About eighty years ago, give or take. While visiting Bree, I heard tell of a string of caverns discovered within the blue mountains. The Men that had attempted to mine it came up short and decided to abandon it. Such a place would have been perfect for a dwarven settlement, and I had come to tell Thror so. He rejected the idea in lieu of their own, of which he refused to say. That was the night that Thorin came to me; well, rode after me once I had left.”

“No.” Elrond pushed himself away from the banister. “No, I cannot believe that.” He walked over to their previous table and sat, pouring himself another glass of wine and wincing when the bottle ran dry.

“No?”

“I find it impossible to believe.” He scoffed. “Oakenshield, asking a wizard for help? No, excuse me. Oakenshield betraying the confidence of his kin for an outsider? Preposterous.”

Gandalf stalked over to the bench and sat with his friend.

“He was very reluctant, I must say. And he was young, so young, barely a tween by hobbit standards, and scared. I could tell his pride was wounded in having to ask for my help, but he had no other choice. You see, he knew that attacking men would cause war, and all those he knew would be lost.”

Elrond shook his head. “So it was because of you that Thror attempted to retake Moria.” It was a statement, not a question.

Gandalf nodded. “Yes. The difference was that an army was fighting an army, and the orcs would not have followed them as the Men would. Sure, their army may become decimated, but their women and children would still have lived. Thorin saw this while his kin could not: or rather, would not.”

A wry grin tipped the corner of Elrond’s mouth, making him appear decades younger. “I suppose this is the moral of the story? That he is not them, at least.”

Gandalf nodded. “Yes. You know, it has crossed my mind that perhaps part of it is due to Bilbo.”

The elf gave a wry, crooked grin. “Gandalf, Bilbo had yet to be born!”

Gandalf tutted with a smile. “You forget that dwarves’ Ones are shaped around each other. I like to think that there was just enough hobbit given to him to see sense on that occasion; enough to fill a whole thimble.”

They shared a laugh, and sat in silence for awhile. When the wizard spoke again, his tone was grave. “However, I am unsure as to whether or not his personality and morals will affect his propensity towards gold sickness.”

Elrond sighed. “And there is another troublesome idea. The gold sickness! Bilbo entered this bond without knowing much about Thorin’s past, and if Oakenshield _does_ fall...I shudder to think what such darkness would do to our friend.”

“Hobbits are naturally resistant to dark magic, even more so than dwarves. I believe that Bilbo would anchor him at best.”

“And at worst?”

Gandalf shook his head and pursed his lips.

“I do not know. It is possible that the sickness could twist Bilbo, cause him to become as mad as Thorin. Yet, I find that very unlikely. Perhaps it could manifest as some sort of physical sickness?”

Elrond sighed. “It is too bad that we do not know more about it. Thror, to my knowledge, did not fall until his wife died. Perhaps it will be the same with them.”

Gandalf winced. “Unfortunately, that was not the case. Her death merely exacerbated the problem, and made him far worse than he was before. I had hoped, at the time, that he would be able to anchor himself to his son or grandsons as the Line of Durin had done in the past, but it was not to be.”

“Has there ever been a Durin who holds the throne yet is without the sickness? I cannot recall one.”

Gandalf took a moment to reply. “Yes. I believe that the ring of power had a great deal of influence on their line, as far as the dragon sickness goes. Perhaps Thrain did not fall because he never wore the accursed thing.”

“But he and Thorin spent their whole lives coming into contact with it, did they not?”

Gandalf tilted his head in agreement, and the pair lapsed into a thoughtful silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still here with me, thank you so much. <3  
> I am so, so, so sorry for my absence. I have horrible depression that gets even worse over the winter, and I kind of...shut down. Now that it's spring, my writing bunny has reappeared to make these lovely chapters for you all. I hope you can forgive me.  
> Unbeta'd. Translations coming soon. I literally just finished this chapter, and I'm posting it before I run off to work because I want you guys to have this ASAP. The next chapter is mostly done and will be up in a week, two at most. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! Kudos is lovely, but I'd love to have yall's input. What did you love, what did you dislike, what would you like to see more of? Let me know. :)
> 
> STORY EDITED 5/8/17 : Some of you may have noticed that a few things have been changed throughout the story. Mainly I saw that I was using a few words incorrectly, but there were a few small plot line errors that I had made, such as giving Bilbo his beads early and accidentally bumping up the timeline. I meant to give him the tunic this chapter, and the beads the next. A few other things needed to be clarified and/or re-worded.


	11. Secrets Uncovered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feels.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Teen death in a flashback. If you want to skip, skip the paragraph after: "Then came the moment he had feared would happen and had tried so hard to prevent."  
> IMPORTANT REMINDER: Italics, unless otherwise specified in the text, are Thorin and Bilbo communicating telepathically through their bond. Also: THORIN IS YOUNGER THAN CANON. He is 116 instead of nearly 200. This accounts for some of the openness that movie-canon Thorin lacked; He is not quite as jaded. This is originally shown in the chapter "Shadows in the Night".
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely LadyLaran, who was extremely helpful and threatened to steal my semicolon and dash keys <3 It'd for my own good, I swear! I love the damn things too much. If it wasn't for her help, I wouldn't have been able to post this at all today.

From their spot on the balcony, which was within hearing distance of the veranda that Elrond and Gandalf were conversing on, Bilbo turned to Thorin. His brow was furrowed in confusion.  

“Gold sickness?” he questioned.

Thorin’s jaw and fist clenched in unison. Through the bond, Bilbo knew the action was from a long hidden shame and not anger. When he finally spoke, Thorin’s voice was oddly emotionless yet held no little amount of contemplation. “My family...some say we are cursed.” He gripped the banister of their balcony until his knuckles turned white. It was difficult for him to admit flaws, especially those carried by his own family and those as deep as dragon sickness. Yet in some ways, Bilbo was closer to him than even Dwalin. Surely he would not lose faith now? 

Thorin looked off into the moonlit night, eyes searching the elven settlement; for what, Bilbo wasn’t sure. A mere moment later, both dwarven and elvish voices were raised in merriment, drifting towards the pair. The king seemed to take strength from the sound.

Thorin cleared his throat. “It is a sickness of the mind, exclusive to my people. We call it dragon sickness. However, the terms are used interchangeably. It is similar to greed - excuse me, it  _ is  _ greed - but it is far more insidious than that. It takes control of you so slowly, and then all at once. It’s an evil that clouds your mind until you can no longer hear the voices of your own people,” he paused and his voice dropped even further to where Bilbo strained to hear him. There was a slightly broken quality to it. “Until you cannot hear the call of your own  _ kin. _ ” His voice steadied as he continued. “There is nothing but the call of the gold.”  

He looked at Bilbo with a carefully guarded expression even as his thoughts hovered along the bond, gauging Bilbo’s reaction. “My line, my family, is infamous for this. There have been other dwarven kings who fell to the sickness, but none so many as Durin’s line. I agree with Gandalf; the ring of power given to my family ages ago affected us in this way.”  

Here he looked out into the distance again, and Bilbo was reminded of that night at camp so long ago. It felt as if that particular night was a lifetime ago. The only difference now was that Thorin’s hair was slightly longer and unbraided, his eyes a shade brighter in the moonlight and shining with humility. Thorin’s voice pulled Bilbo out of his musing. 

“I wish you could have known my grandfather before the sickness set in.” He closed his eyes and turned his back to the view, tipping his head so that his face looked up at the night sky while adjusting his grip on the railing. After a few minutes of thought, Thorin continued. “He was my grandfather. To me, he was kind. Hard, yes, but he cared very deeply for our family and for our people. He went in and out of the sickness through my youth. Due to this, the three of us: I, Dis, and Fre-” He cut off and took a deep breath, a note of deep pain singing along the bond. Bilbo moved closer, to where he was standing in front of his One. Thorin dropped his head to Bilbo’s shoulder, arms wrapping around his waist as he took a few deep breaths. Thorin took comfort from the physical contact and showed his appreciation without words. Bilbo slowly began running his hands through Thorin’s hair. In this position, their legs and hips were together but their chests did not touch. 

Thorin’s voice was almost shaky as he continued. “His name was Frerin. I have mentioned him in passing when sharing good memories, and I am fine with that. But to speak so much of the dead, of flaws, of terrible things...there are so many memories, Bilbo. I should never have let him fight;  _ damn  _ what grandfather had to say about it!” His voice cracked, and Bilbo was suddenly overwhelmed by images and emotions that were not his own. The memories he was being shown were Thorin’s, and he dove into them willingly.

_ “Come on Khȃzash, you can do better than that!”  _

_ The dwarfling was small, somewhere around thirteen in Mannish years. Despite his youth, he had a great mane of blond hair that reminded Bilbo greatly of Fili. His barely-there stubble of a beard reminded him of Kili. He wielded his blunt sparring sword with surety as they went back and forth. Eventually Thorin let his brother get in a move that pulled his legs out from under him, and he found himself on his back with the sword at his throat. They laughed, and Frerin helped him to his feet. The boy playfully punched Thorin’s shoulder. _

_ “I hate when you let me win, but Mahal does it feel good!” _

_ The scene changed with a swirl of light and color; Bilbo now stood in a tent with people who were slightly taller than him. One dwarf stood out among the rest; he was not taller or shorter than the others but had a great silver beard that was tucked into his belt. He wore rings and gems while those around him went unadorned. Bilbo understood this to be Thorin’s grandfather, Thror. _

_ Thorin’s voice rang out, and it was not as deep as Bilbo was used to hearing due to his youthful age. “He is too young! Frerin isn’t even thirty, grandfather! You cannot expect him to fight with us! There are untold scores of goblins in Moria-” A loud smack echoed and Bilbo/Thorin reeled, not expecting the blow.   _

_ “YOU WILL CALL IT BY ITS NAME! Khazad-dum! It is YOUR FAULT that we are attempting this to begin with, fool! How dare you question me when you have already gone behind my back to conspire with that  _ **_wizard?_ ** _ It would be far simpler to  _ **_take_ ** _ what we deserve from the Men! Shut your mouth, and remember your place! You and your brother be ready to march when we sound the call!” _

_ The scene shifted again in a swirl of color and light. They now stood in a mix of browns, blacks, and the red of dwarven blood that had been spilled. Thorin sliced an orc in half, bashing another one in the neck with his shield before spinning around to deflect a blow he had spied coming towards him from the corner of his eye. His arm jarred from the impact, but he stayed solid as stone. He whipped his sword around to behead the beast. The stench of death was heavy on the air, and his adrenaline was flowing like it never had before. _

_ His brother was fighting alongside him, doing the best that he could given his youthful age and limited skill. Thorin did most of the work, but there was not much he could do to defend his brother while in the throes of battle. The elder prince was not even of age himself. He wound up circling Frerin, trying his best to keep the goblins at bay. The few he hadn’t been able to deal with were small enough to not give his brother too much trouble. _

_ Then came the moment he had feared would happen and had tried so hard to prevent. _

_ A bloodcurdling scream split the air; it was a high-pitched noise that was far too high to belong to any grown dwarf. Thorin spun around to see his little brother on the ground, lower legs detached from his body. Their eyes met for a single, short moment before the goblin’s sword decapitated him in a spray of blood, and another Son of Durin was lost forever to the Halls of Waiting.  _

_ There was a roar of a battlecry; the roar came from Thorin’s own throat. He ran at the goblin responsible and killed it before continuing on. He had fallen into a berserker rage. _

Thorin jerked them out of the memory and back into the present, unable to continue reliving the past. Bilbo’s heart broke to see such a miserable expression on the dwarf’s face - guilt, sadness, and loss. Both of them had tears on their cheeks, and Bilbo wordlessly cradled Thorin’s face. He pressed their lips together quickly, then their foreheads.  

_ I’m so sorry, Thorin. There was nothing you could have done. _

Suddenly, Thorin was enraged. He tore himself away, marched over to the bed and picked up an oil lamp. “BUT THERE WAS!” He slung it into the wall opposite the balcony, and it shattered loudly. “I SHOULD HAVE HIDDEN HIM!” Another crash was heard as he threw a book at the bedside table, shattering the inkwell and glass pen found there. “I SHOULD HAVE PAID BETTER ATTENTION IN THE FIGHT, SHOULD HAVE KEPT HIM SAFE!” Here he threw the elf-sized candle holder into the wall, the candle-fire going out instantly and leaving them in moonlight. In his anger, his markings flared a bright blue; out in the night, all firelight was extinguished. Ice grew from the edges of fountains to the center, and some residences grew icy windows in the night. 

“DO NOT TELL ME THERE WAS NOTHING I COULD HAVE DONE!” Thorin bellowed as he managed to hurl an entire loveseat off the edge of the balcony; Bilbo had moved further into the room (and thus out of the way) a few moments before, anticipating the move. As the couch flew out, Bilbo waved a hand and urgently called out “Mahitsi!” His markings flared to life, a vivid green in the dark. Below, a couple of tree branches curved to catch the offending piece of furniture. He let out a great sigh of relief when he  _ felt  _ the trees catch it. However, he didn’t know the word to lower it, so he left it and turned his attention back to Thorin. His markings responded to Thorin’s and thus held steady instead of disappearing.  

The room bore the brunt of the intensity of Thorin’s emotional storm and despite the rage and grief Bilbo could see, not once did the dwarf ever lash out at him. His heart ached with compassion, and once the storm died down due to lack of strength, the dwarf king sank to his knees on the floor. Only then did Bilbo move.

He knelt in front of Thorin and cupped his face with one hand while brushing the messy locks of hair away with the other. “Oh Thorin,” he murmured. “I know you don’t believe it, but you really did your best. You were both children and put into a horrible situation that neither of you could control. Frerin knew you did your best, and I truly believe he would not want you to suffer from this any longer.”

A great sob was wrenched from Thorin’s throat; it was one he had held in for over seventy years, having never once allowed himself this small mercy. He shifted from the painful position on his knees until he was fully seated on the floor, drawing Bilbo with him so that the hobbit was straddling his lap. Thorin wrapped his arms around Bilbo and sobbed. It was messy, emotionally painful, and before long, Bilbo’s shoulder was thoroughly soaked. It was no burden for the hobbit to bear, and he wept as well, a silent contrast to Thorin’s sobbing. He murmured soft, meaningless things to Thorin that slowly relaxed the dwarf. 

Eventually, Thorin gave a hiccuping sob that evolved into words. He latched onto the last thing he had said before the memories and ran with it.  

“He wasn’t-” hiccup “-he wasn’t always like that.” Through the bond, Bilbo knew he was talking about Thror. “He was hard, but he was kind, and we - we quickly learned to tell when he was grandfather, and when he was - sick. The five years before the drag-gon came there - there was no hint of him, Bilbo. He was  _ gone.  _ He was lost to the gold and I - I am so  _ afraid,  _ Bilbo. I am so afraid that I will - that I will - fall -”

Bilbo pulled back and cupped Thorin’s face with his hands, meeting his eyes. Their markings had faded sometime during the crying, so Thorin’s face was illuminated only by moonlight. The silvered wetness of his face was vibrant against the black of the room. 

“No. None of that, Thorin.” Bilbo’s voice was firm and sure, the rock-solid foundation that Thorin needed to rebuild upon. “You cannot hold yourself accountable for other’s mistakes. I heard what Gandalf said;  _ you are not your grandfather.  _ I won’t let you fall, Thorin. I won’t.”

Thorin shook his head violently, and Bilbo’s hands fell to his neck, kneading his trapezius muscles soothingly.

The dwarf’s words came fast now, somewhat panicked. “You cannot promise me that. You - you cannot. All of us fell, virtually all of us who were crowned, we-”

Bilbo cut him off with a hand over his mouth, entangling his other hand in night-black strands. 

“Then I will pull you back.” Bilbo’s voice, face, and heart were filled with a desperate determination. “I will  _ keep at it _ and  _ keep at it _ until you are back with us. I won’t give up on you. Ever.”

Something broke in Thorin at his words, and it showed in his eyes. He felt relieved, freed from his greatest fears. Bilbo’s words were something he had both wanted and needed to hear and now they had been spoken, laid out on a moonlit platter of reverberating truth that he felt in his bones.

“Thank you,” he whispered, pushing their foreheads together. “Thank you. I don’t deserve you, but  _ thank you. _ ”

“You deserve every happiness,” Bilbo answered, gently rubbing his nose against his One’s.  “I mean to see to it that you have it.”

The king-in-exile’s eyes were soft as he whispered his next answer, then yawned widely as the effects of his meltdown caught up with him. “You do too, ukradel,” he said to the other, then blushed at the yawn.

“Time for bed, I think,” Bilbo chuckled, rising to his feet.  “You have to be tired, and I know I am.”

The hobbit helped the dwarf to his feet, and he aided Thorin in undressing for bed.  Bilbo ensured Thorin was snuggled in the bed before changing into night attire himself, slipping into bed and willingly going into his One’s arms when the other reached for him.

A little while after being pressed against the dwarf’s chest, a thought flitted across Bilbo’s mind. Thorin was not yet asleep, and due to the bond being so open, Thorin caught it.

“Need to stop hiding?” There was no accusation in his voice, and dark eyebrows came together in confusion. Bilbo sighed and bit his lip. Gently, ever so gently, Thorin moved back and rolled Bilbo over to face him. “What are you hiding, mizimel?”

“It’s nothing really. I think there’s been enough emotions and revelations for tonight.”

Thorin’s frown deepened.

“No. If there is something that you need to say to me, just say it. I would rather know tonight; otherwise I will lay awake for hours.” Bilbo sincerely doubted he would manage to stay awake for hours but didn’t say so. Thorin’s hand came up to cup his cheek, thumb gently running over his cheekbone. “I would have no secrets between us. Nothing you say will change the way we are. I can promise you that.”

Bilbo worried his bottom lip between his teeth, debating.

“Honestly, Thorin, it can wait. You’ve been through a lot tonight, and I’m not adding onto it.”

Unbidden, a flashback of speaking with Ori caught him.

_ “I know that Thorin can be closed-minded a lot of the time, but you need to understand that dwarves love children more than anything else in this world; even more than our gems.” Ori smiled at Bilbo’s surprised look and nodded in affirmation. “It’s true, Balin was not bluffing when he told Robyn that we treasure children above all else. I guarantee that Thorin will be alright with it, to put it lightly. Most likely he’ll be happy and excited to find out that there’s even the slightest chance you might carry his children one day.” _

Now Bilbo was torn. If Ori was right, this could seriously improve Thorin’s night. But if he was wrong…

“How do you feel about kids?” Bilbo blurted. He winced at his bluntness and sat up, leaning against the headboard. Thorin mirrored his movement before replying.

“Kids?” A humorless chuckle followed. “The conditions haven’t been right for my people for a long time, Bilbo.”

There was something about the way Thorin said “conditions” that the hobbit found odd.

“What do you mean, ‘conditions?’”

Now Thorin hesitated. He took Bilbo’s hand and brought it into his lap, focusing on it intently and tracing different runes on the back as he decided how best to reply.

“I...I haven’t told you about this yet. I hope you think no less of me for it, but this is something that affects my entire race and not something I can control.” Here he looked up at Bilbo, unsure, and the hobbit gave him a pained half smile.

“Trust me, it can’t be as shocking as what I have to say.”

Thorin arched a brow, disbelieving, and continued to trace runes on Bilbo’s hand when he replied.

“The reason for our birth rate being so low is only  _ somewhat _ due to our lack of women. Only a third of all dwarves are female, and a third of those choose their crafts over children. However, all dwarves are  _ capable  _ of carrying children, if the conditions are just right.”

He looked at Bilbo who just stared at him, slack-jawed. 

“When - when you say  _ all dwarves, _ ” Bilbo stuttered out, and Thorin cut him off.

“Yes. I mean both genders. However, women are the only ones who are fertile in all conditions. Famine, drought, nomadic life...it does not matter for them. On the other hand, things have to be just right for males. We must be in a stable living environment: having a home, plenty of food, plenty of money, things of that nature. So while I would love to try for children after reclaiming the mountain...it will likely have to wait a few years.”

After he had finished, Bilbo’s mouth flopped up and down like a fish. Then, he flew into Thorin’s lap, grabbed his hair and kissed him hard. When the kiss ended, he placed a hand on the nape of his dwarf’s neck in a way meant to comfort and reassure him.

“I’m so glad; Thorin, you don’t  _ understand  _ how glad I am to hear that.”

The dwarf’s expression was a mix of surprise, happiness, and slight confusion.

“I’m - I’m kind of the same way as you, but the cause of mine is a bit different.” Bilbo thought to himself,  _ screw it,  _ and told his One the full truth. “My mother was a Took. Her great-great-great-great grandfather took one of the fae for his wife and had a lot of children; today, almost all Tooks are descended from them. I know for a fact that I am.” Thorin’s eyes shot open in shock and he found himself wide awake, though not one negative thought entered his mind. The lack of negativity spurred Bilbo to continue on, words coming quickly. “Once we have bonded, there is a chance that males will present. At least, that’s our word for it. Essentially, our body’s internal differences become apparent and one week a month we are able to conceive. I - there is a chance that I will be able to carry your children one day. It’s more likely the stronger the bond, and funnily enough most hobbits don’t bond half as strongly as we have-” 

He was cut off by Thorin kissing him passionately, a slick kiss that was nothing but lips. When the kiss ended, the dwarf spoke in a breathless tone.

“Why did you hide this? I love it, Bilbo.”

Bilbo let out a bittersweet laugh and tilted his head, expression seeming to say ‘really?’ Then it cleared as he realized Thorin was being serious.

“It’s not...it’s not something widely accepted amongst my own people.”

Thorin frowned, concerned at the deep-seated pain and insecurity reverberating along the bond. 

“What do you mean?”

“It’s...it’s…” Bilbo struggled to find the words. Instead, he opened the bond to a few memories.

_ The scene was in Bag-End. Robyn and Bilbo had been speaking about children and Robyn’s disinterest in them. Robyn had just expressed how glad he was that Bilbo would never be able to conceive when the blond hobbit explained his heritage and that it might be possible one day. _

_ “Liar!” Robyn shouted, throwing a glass into the fireplace. _

_ Bilbo flinched, moving away. “I’m not lying! My cousin-” _

_ Robyn rounded on him.  _

_ “You mean that  _ **_freak?_ ** _ No, you won’t be like him. I won’t let you.” _

_ The memory ended there, a swirl of color and light that resolved into a different memory of Bilbo’s old bedroom in Bag-End. There in his bed were Robyn and a female hobbit who Bilbo didn’t know but looked somewhat like a Stonefoot. _

_ She had been riding him but jumped off as soon as Bilbo gasped. She pulled the covers up to her chest and looked confused. “Get out!” She yelled, face bright red from exertion and embarrassment. _

_ Bilbo drew himself up to his full height. “This is MY SMIAL and MY BED!” he yelled. “What the buggering fuck, Robyn?!” _

_ Robyn, who was smirking unashamedly, raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? What are you mad about? You can’t blame me for wanting a  _ **_proper_ ** _ woman once in awhile, can you? You’re just a flat one with a bonus accessory after all.” _

_ The woman looked at Robyn in horror and slapped him before quickly shucking into her clothing and apologizing profusely to Bilbo the whole while. _

_ It didn’t matter to Robyn that there was every chance Bilbo wasn’t a bearer nor did it matter that such a gift should be seen as just that. A gift. Not something to be mocked for. _

_ One last time, the scene evolved. Now it was a scene that Thorin remembered; the day they left the Shire at the start of their quest.  _

_ “Fuck your honor," Robin sneered. “As if you homeless folk have any to begin with.” _

_ Bilbo’s blood boiled, and Thorin was glad to sense such strong defense of his people from him before they even knew what they were to each other. _

_ “How dare you, Robyn Sackville-Baggins! You are disgracing your name, your family’s name, and even our race with your horrid words. Though truly,” he hissed. “I shouldn’t expect any better from a cheating coward like yourself.” He pointed at the dwarves. “They have far more honor than your sorry self ever had. You don’t even know the meaning of the word!” _

Bilbo drew them back to the present, eyes shut and jaw clenched. 

Thorin immediately cupped Bilbo’s face and pushed their foreheads together in comfort. He was both devastated that his One had been treated so harshly and proud that the hobbit had done the right thing in protecting the company. He brushed away the burning anger he felt against Robyn in favor of comforting Bilbo.

“That disgrace of a hobbit never deserved you,” he said softly.  “The ability to carry children is a precious gift and one not to be treated so disdainfully.  You, my hobbit, are worth so much more than how he made you feel, and I will spend every day the Maker gives us ensuring you know just how important you are to me.”

Tears filled Bilbo’s eyes, and his hands came up to grasp Thorin’s wrists.  He couldn’t speak, but the dwarf wasn’t done yet.

“If the Maker and his wife bless us with children, no matter who carries them, they will be treated like the precious gems they are,” Thorin whispered.  “This is a gift, one of the most noble ones that can be granted, and I promise you, Bilbo, that no one will ever treat you like that piece of shite did.  I can make one more promise to you tonight, ukradel.  No one but you will ever be in our bed.  I will never betray you as he did.”

A sob escaped the hobbit, hands tightening on the wrists they were holding.  Thorin’s words had eased the pain and anger he’d been holding onto after everything Robyn had done.  In his heart, he knew his dwarf would keep his promises and that meant the world to him.

“Thank you,” he whispered, looking into those icy blue eyes. He found it wonderfully curious how one who was given such a hard, cold magic was actually incredibly warm inside.

_ Mountains,  _ Thorin murmured mentally in response as he pressed a sweet kiss to his One’s lips, bond flowing with comfort, affection, and dedication.  _ Mountains may have ice and snow on their peaks year round, but their insides are warm. Especially those that house my people. There is fire, warmth, and never-ending light.  _

Bilbo hummed his agreement, falling deeper into the kiss. It heated up, and Thorin slowly turned them so Bilbo’s back was against the mattress. He braced himself on his knees and forearms, with Bilbo’s legs on either side of him still. The dwarf rolled his hips in a motion that was almost a question. It was answered by Bilbo softly moaning into his mouth and rolling his hips up as well. Though they were tired from the day, both wanted this. Slow, soft lovemaking with a trusted partner is healing, and both were welcome to it.

Eventually, Thorin went from the kiss to pressing open-mouthed kisses along Bilbo’s jaw, then up to his ear. He sucked on his earlobe and nibbled it lightly, loving the subsequent writhing. He licked up the edge, for once without the cuff as it had been removed for cleaning. Then he sucked on the tip and Bilbo’s hips rutted into him, soft noises of pleasure escaping. Once Thorin decided he was done with his ear, he made his way back down Bilbo’s neck. When he reached the neckline of his sleepwear, Bilbo wordlessly leaned forward so Thorin could pull it off. Next came Thorin’s sleepwear as well, and once they were both naked, the dwarf gave his hobbit’s nipples some attention.

Bilbo had closed his eyes somewhere along the way, allowing himself to be doted on. He knew that Thorin was truly perturbed by the idea of him disliking himself, and fearing acceptance. This was Thorin’s way of making sure he understood how loved and adored he was. Why would Bilbo reject it when it was what he had wanted his entire life?

By the time Thorin was finished with his chest and moving lower, Bilbo reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the flask of oil where it lied on its side. He silently thanked the Valar that it hadn’t disappeared during his dwarf’s emotional outburst. He handed to to Thorin, who soon had his fingers slicked and one inside. The dwarf’s lips were around his cock soon after that, doubling the hobbit’s pleasure.

Gently, oh so gently he prepared Bilbo. He took the time to make sure his mouth and fingers were in tandem. He loved the soft gasps and moans that his One was creating, loved the hot tightness of his channel, loved the taste of him in his mouth. He wordlessly relayed all of this to Bilbo as he pleasured him.

Once Bilbo was gasping, pushing down on three fingers and silently begging for more, Thorin deemed him ready. He took the pillow beside Bilbo and put it under the hobbit’s hips, then slid up his body. They kissed deeply, and Thorin moaned when he felt his One’s fingers wrapping around his length. He pushed his hips up into it until he was fully hard, enjoying the twists of Bilbo’s wrist.

Then finally,  _ finally _ they were both ready. When Thorin pushed into him, both of them moaned at the sensation. Bilbo bit his lip at the slight pain that came from his lover’s size. The dwarf nuzzled his face and hair as they waited for the discomfort to subside. Once it had, Thorin began a slow pace, pulling nearly all the way out before sliding back in again. It was unhurried and sweet, and they kissed quite often as their bodies moved together.

Despite their unhurried state, the sensuality of their actions sent them over the edge far, far earlier than usual; a mere ten minutes at most.  

Thorin buried his face in Bilbo’s neck as he came, sucking the skin hard enough that he left a deep red mark. A guttural groan vibrated against Bilbo’s skin, and the hobbit was helpless to keep himself from falling over the edge. He said Thorin’s name like a prayer, a sharp “Ah!” accompanying it.

They gently fell from their peaks with Thorin murmuring soft words of praise, his voice the quietest thunder Bilbo had ever heard. Before long they were cleaned up and spooning with Bilbo’s head tucked under Thorin’s chin.

“I love you,” Bilbo whispered, so content he could feel it in his bones.

“I love you too,” Thorin murmured, falling asleep quickly.

There were a few moments of silence, broken only by the soft breathing from the dwarf, and Bilbo closed his eyes for a long moment.  He sent a prayer to the Valar, especially Mahal and Yavanna, and he begged for aid in ensure his One did not fall to the illness and if it should happen, that the Valar would grant him the strength and wisdom needed to pull his beloved out of the madness before any harm befell the people under Thorin’s rein; or Thorin himself.  

Once the prayer was given, the hobbit drifted off to sleep as well, feeling just as exhausted as the other was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, well, we're getting three Rivendell chapters.  
> Originally I was going to drop a 15k monster to keep it at two, but for pacing's sake, it's going to be split up.  
> I know I'm late with updating. *glares at self.* I'm working on it, I swear.  
> Much better smut next chapter, I promise. I had a caffeine crash halfway through writing the scene, slowing me down a lot. Plus I wanted to get this to yall by daybreak EST, so thus, short smut. Next chapter tho, trust me. Smut will be crazy good. <3 It's already written and everything.  
> Comments fuel me <3  
> OH AND BY THE WAY! This is now a series! Press the "next work" button to read Bilbo's letter to Primula in "Letters Home." :)
> 
> Khȃzash - brother  
> Mizimel - little jewel


	12. Final Day in Rivendell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut, courting gifts, and more!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is late. I haven't had internet in a literal age. I hope the word count and smut makes up for the wait! We start off hot, so brace yourselves!  
> Most of this is beta'd by LadyLaran. Any mistakes are my own.  
> Enjoy!

Thorin stirred from sleep as nimble fingers wove their way through his hair. He lifted his head into the hand, much like a great cat enjoying a good petting. He hummed in a contented, close-mouthed manner. To Bilbo’s great amusement, the results were very much like a purr. 

“Did you sleep well, mizimel?”

A sliver of bleary blue appeared between sleep-hooded eyelids. Thorin’s morning-roughened voice was half indignant when he replied. “I am not little.” He rolled his hips into Bilbo’s leg, proving just how not-little he was. Bilbo rolled his eyes.

“It  _ is _ an endearment, yes?”

“But I am not little.”

Bilbo sighed. “Right. Well. I thought I’d try to be sweet, but apparently that is off the table for this morning.”

Thorin grumbled, pressing his face into Bilbo’s chest. He said something, but it was muffled by skin.

“Say that again?”

_ There are many you could use. _   _'Ibinê_ _ , galthûn, marali even... _ _ but small is not one of them. You, on the other hand,  _ _ kurkarukê, my little raven…  _ His tongue flicked out across Bilbo’s skin.

Bilbo hesitated to join in the lusty thoughts Thorin was having in favor of concern. “Are you alright? I know last night was a lot to process.”

_ Yes,  _ Thorin said through the bond, nipping sharply at Bilbo’s pectoral muscle.  _ I am, for once, alright with myself; I am  _ **_perfectly_ ** _ alright with you. If anything, you are even more adorable because you are part fairy. I knew you were too pretty to be real. _

Bilbo sputtered.  _ I am not - pretty! Of all the things to say! Or cute!  _ The dwarven king just silently laughed at his words, continuing to make his way across his One’s chest.

At a particularly painful nip from Thorin’s teeth, Bilbo’s fingers (which had been gently running through Thorin’s dark locks) suddenly tightened and pulled strongly. A deep groan came from Thorin and he moved his head back at the pull, opening his now  _ very awake  _ eyes and baring his throat while his upper body stayed put.

_ Well,  _ Bilbo thought to himself. That was new. Instead of commenting on Thorin’s newly discovered kink, something else drew the hobbit’s attention.  “The trust you have in me…Especially after knowing all I know...” Bilbo’s voice was soft as he slowly traced the middle of Thorin’s throat with his finger. The dwarf swallowed and Bilbo briefly bit his lip, remembering  _ exactly _ what Thorin was capable of doing with that throat.

Thorin’s “voice” was amused when he replied, though there was a bit of gravity to it.  _ Surely you aren’t surprised.  _

Bilbo didn’t even bothering answering that and instead cleared his throat. “Ah, we have awhile before we have to meet Elrond...would you like to-”

Thorin cut him off. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

_ “Yes.” _

Thorin had been turned on the moment he had awoken to Bilbo in his arms and ready to go ever since the hobbit pulled his hair like that. It was something new to both of them. Bilbo hadn’t tried it before, and Thorin had never been with a lover confident enough to pull his hair so hard; he was rather intimidating, after all.

Thorin began kissing down Bilbo’s unclothed chest, and Bilbo moved the heavy journal on his lap over to the nightstand and allowed himself to, ah,  _ stand.  _ It tented the white sheet.

“So eager already…” Thorin’s words were somewhat muffled by the skin against his lips, his breath hot, but Bilbo could still understand him. “Is it me or the morning?” He sucked a nipple into his mouth and rolled it with his teeth, eliciting a hiss from Bilbo.

“Both. But mostly -” Thorin began pinching the other and Bilbo’s hips rolled, seeking friction. “-Oh - Mostly you. You’re-” he gritted his teeth as Thorin bit harder, just on  _ this  _ side of pleasure. He spoke through gritted teeth and wrapped his hands in Thorin’s hair, moving it to one side so it was out of the way and then pulling lightly. “Fasak, Thorin, I need you  _ lower. _ ”

Thorin didn’t bother removing his mouth from his One’s skin to speak. The bond had many perks, and he was going to use it to his full advantage. _ Such language. Is that not cause for punishment? _

_ What? You think it’s hot!  _

Thorin looked up at him with a predatory grin. He shifted, moving fully over Bilbo and began dragging his tongue across the hairless chest. He stopped to suck a few times as he went, slowly going lower down the soft torso. Bilbo was left biting his lip from the feeling along with the sheer  _ enthusiasm  _ he felt running through the bond.

_ Did you clean yourself last night? I can’t remem- _

_ Yes, yes, for the love of all that is green- _

_ Interrupting me is rude. That is two times now, I believe. _

Bilbo grunted.  _ Then punish me. Suck me until I’m on the edge again and again. _

_ Oh, I will. But first, I want you to beg for it. _

_ Not going to happen. I do have my -  _ He gasped, and his “voice” cut off when Thorin’s tongue found that dip in his hip that made him get shivers down his spine.  _ -pride,  _ he choked out, barely noticing the sheet slipping off of him completely. 

Thorin moved his mouth over where Bilbo wanted it most...blew gently...and then began licking around the base without ever actually touching it. Occasionally his beard would scrape along the bottom of the shaft, a delicious friction that Bilbo enjoyed. 

“Valar,  _ Thorin. _ ” 

Next he took Bilbo’s legs behind the knee and pushed them up and out, running his tongue along the crease of his thighs. He alternated pressures with his tongue until he found the one that gave his lover the most pleasure; he went from one side to another for awhile, also nipping and kissing Bilbo’s inner thighs as he saw fit. Once he had Bilbo quivering, he put them down.

His next move made Bilbo create a strangled noise that cannot be described.

Thorin laved his One’s tight sack for a moment, then slipped one side into his mouth. From his vantage point, he could see all of Bilbo. His lover was quivering, face scrunched up in pleasure, hardness curved against his belly. His chest and small stomach were both covered in a fine veil of sweat, raising and lowering quickly with his breathing. 

_ Galth _ _ ȗ _ _ n,  _ Thorin sent, caressing the word. 

Bilbo let out a shuddering breath and tightened his hands in Thorin’s hair. His desire to be sucked down was palpable, but Thorin was determined. He continued torturing Bilbo slowly, sucking the other bollock into his mouth, and then eventually both of them. Once again, the noise Bilbo made was impossible to explain.

By the time Bilbo lost his composure, the sun had moved and he was gripping Thorin’s hair deliciously tight, begging with all but words.

“Th-Thorinnn,” he whined, arching his back as Thorin’s beard lightly scraped his throbbing length. “Thorin, Thorin, just  _ do it _ , stop this teas-iii! -ng.” 

_ You know what you have to say. _

“Bugger that!” The words exploded from Bilbo’s mouth, and there was probably an echo of it heard back in Hobbiton. 

Bilbo pulled Thorin’s hair so hard that in order to not experience great pain (instead of the pleasure he received) he had to lift his head with the motion. Thorin growled, accent in full force. “Do you think to manhandle me,  _ hobbit?”  _

There was a moment where they stared each other down, neither willing to budge an inch. Finally Bilbo did...in a manner of speaking. 

“Get off me,” Bilbo hissed.

Thorin raised an eyebrow. Bilbo was still  _ very much  _ in the mood…

“You have to release me first.”

Bilbo did so. Once Thorin was kneeling, Bilbo was in action. Quick as lightning he was up, then behind his dwarf. He shoved him down and Thorin lost his balance, not expecting the strength that came from the action. He bounced off the mattress and immediately reveled in the feeling of Bilbo’s sweat-slick front pressed against his back. Barely a second later, Bilbo’s teeth dug into his shoulder and he arched into it with a grunt. Bilbo’s hands took his and brought them together above his head, bent at the elbow so they were still on the bed and not against the headboard. Bilbo rutted against him a few times, and he pressed his ass up into it.

Through the bond, Bilbo felt  _ wild.  _ There was no other description for it; no other word that could truly grasp the loss of control and spiraling lust that was consuming him. It sparked Thorin’s desire even further. He closed his eyes and saw himself through Bilbo’s; he saw the lines of his bare back in the morning light, the nest of dark hair pushed off to the side but laying over his left shoulder; saw the angry red bite marks and love bruises that Bilbo was leaving; the barely-there, light blue outline of his own markings that were so clear against his pale white skin, the skin that only saw daylight when he bathed.

Bilbo’s desire was almost angry in its quality, though there was no malice in it: so pent up, rough, and passionate...so... _ dwarven. _

For the third time in his life, Thorin Oakenshield was speechless.

Thorin choked off a moan, only to have teeth dig so deliciously into his back that he let it out anyways.

_ Do not hold back on me,  _ Bilbo commanded. A thought crossed his mind, and he snarled.  _ I hope every bloody elf in this city hears you, hears us, hears how  _ **_good_ ** _ I make you feel. I hope  _ **_she_ ** _ hears you moaning, crying out,  _ **_begging_ ** _ for  _ **_me_ ** _. You are  _ **_mine,_ ** _ mine alone. _

“Yes, yes!” Thorin gasped, chest heaving as he gave up on keeping himself together. Just when he thought nothing could be better than  _ this -  _ Bilbo’s slick lips and hard teeth and aroused body against his - he felt something solid winding around his wrists, replacing Bilbo’s hands within moments. He jerked against it, nearly panicking, but as soon as he looked up he bit his lip and let out a helpless noise of pleasure.

Two strong vines of ivy encircled his wrists, four times over on each. He pulled against them, testing; they slipped slightly, and then they were tightening again until he was completely at Bilbo’s mercy. Knowing this made him even harder and he squirmed between Bilbo and the bed, trying to get some relief from his aching cock. He had been hard for the better part of an hour now, ever since Bilbo made those delicious noises when he was being teased.

He felt Bilbo slipping down his back, teeth dragging across his spine in some places, tongue in others. When Bilbo reached the curve of his ass, he slapped Thorin’s hips, making him jump.

“On your knees.”

Thorin didn’t hesitate to obey. He curled himself inward so his belly made a C-shape and made an odd hopping motion. It allowed him to pull his knees forward without dislodging his hands in their earthen bind. He felt Bilbo nibbling along the top of his cheeks for a minute, tongue flicking out here and there...then Thorin jerked forward and away from his One as he felt a wet tongue licking between his cheeks. It didn’t even get to its destination before Thorin moved. 

“What- what are you doing?” Thorin’s voice was confused and slightly higher than usual.

“You trust me with your life?” Bilbo asked, caressing Thorin’s hips. 

“Absolutely-” His voice was back to normal.

Bilbo cut him off. “Then can you trust me with your pleasure?”

Thorin gnawed on his lip, conflicted, his face hidden from Bilbo due to their position.

_ This is extremely taboo among my people, Bilbo. I...I do not know if this is what I want. _

There was a pause in Bilbo’s hand motions, though his wildness - as felt through the bond - was unchanged. Thorin’s comfort came first, and the fact that Bilbo was a tenth of a second away from losing his shit did nothing to affect that. 

“If you don’t want to, we don’t have to.”

Thorin internally debated it, unsure.

Bilbo gently kissed his lower back, a press of wet lips.  _ If you want to stop, we can. At any time. Just say the word, and I’ll let you go. _

Thorin made his decision. “I will try it another time. But not here. Not with  _ elves  _ so close.” He said the word ‘elves’ like it was a curse. “But the vines...the vines can stay.”

“Alright.” Bilbo grabbed the vial of oil on the bedside table and circled Thorin’s rim with a finger. He began sucking a hickey onto the upper side of his left cheek, and once he had the spot nice and red (and Thorin digging his teeth into his bottom lip in anticipation) he spoke through the bond.

_ Are you ready for me?   _ Bilbo’s voice was sleek, clearly aware of how Thorin was feeling.

_ Yes - ”AH!”  _ He suddenly exclaimed out loud and through the bond as Bilbo pushed his entire finger inside. It was perfectly acceptable since Bilbo’s fingers were almost half the size of Thorin’s own, and he was well-slicked. Bilbo reached around and stroked his One slowly, far slower than he was fingering him, more just playing with the head, to be truthful. The speed of his fingers inside was far higher than the pair normally achieved this early, but neither were feeling too much foreplay. The weight of the night before could still be lightly felt, and both were eager to banish it. Bilbo pushed in a second finger after only a few moments, drawing a deep moan from Thorin who bucked back against the slick fingers.

Awhile later Bilbo asked. “Tell me, how does it feel?”

Thorin cleared his throat, the wildness from Bilbo affecting him greatly. Right as he went to reply, Bilbo crooked his fingers and Thorin cried out his name.

“That’s it,” Bilbo hissed, making the executive decision to go ahead with a third finger. Thorin was ready for it in every way possible. “Let me hear you. You sound so  _ sexy.  _ And you’re mine, all  _ mine _ .” 

Thorin’s mind was spiraling through a light sky the color of his markings, high on sex, the bindings around his wrist tight (but not uncomfortably so) and adding to his pleasure. “Bilbo! Bilbo, take me, just -  _ fasak -  _ take me, I’m yours, all yours,” and on and on he went. He spoke so many of his pleasure-soaked thoughts that there was enough material to rival some of his longer speeches.

Thorin’s back was arching _just right,_ putting that tight ass at the perfect level for Bilbo. Truthfully, it was that that did Bilbo’s already frayed patience in. Such a perfect curve, with a spiky, interlocking dwarven mark at his lower back...oh, it was too much.  He needed to see those markings _aflame._ Bilbo removed his fingers and slicked his cock. Without any preamble he pushed in, burying himself to the hilt with one fast motion. Their markings exploded with color and Thorin gave a short  scream, the pleasure/pain being utterly _perfect_ on his overwhelmed senses after such intense foreplay. The dwarf had his eyes closed, just _feeling,_ and was pulling even harder at the vines. Bilbo echoed Thorin’s scream with a hoarse shout of his own and was immediately pulling back so he could snap his hips forward again. 

Bilbo was gone with lust, lust for the king wrapped around his cock. The tight muscles of Thorin’s body were exquisite. No hobbit could ever compare with  _ that,  _ in Bilbo’s opinion. Truthfully, he had secretly had a thing for dwarves since he was a tween and his One was a perfect example of a dwarf in his prime.

He fucked Thorin fast and hard, relentless in his passion. Thorin was far more vocal than he normally was, mainly because Bilbo didn't want him to hold back...and who was he to deny such a simple pleasure? Besides, it was  _ nice _ to not hold back. Once they were on the road, silence would be essential. 

Twenty minutes into the fucking, Bilbo’s eyes latched onto Thorin's curls and an exquisite flower on Thorin's right shoulder blade; an aechmea from the Southern Lands to be exact, a symbol of warriors. He had a sudden burst of  inspiration and ran with it, loosening his tight hold on the vines and pulling at Thorin's sides. Thorin, Yavanna bless him, went with the motion. 

Now Thorin was nearly vertical yet still bent at the knee, sweaty back against Bilbo's equally sweaty chest, and the new angle made Bilbo's cock slip even deeper inside. The king cried out at the sensation, his cock rock hard and standing at attention; Bilbo had one arm around his waist for balance and the other at his hip to pull him into his thrusts. Thorin's hands were still bound, but at a thought from Bilbo they pulled his wrists to the headboard so Thorin had something to grip. They were still tight, adding an extra layer of pleasure.

Thorin’s half-soaked curtain of hair fell over Bilbo’s left shoulder, blessedly out of the way yet sparking pleasure across the burglar’s skin. Bilbo continued his fast pace, in that moment  _ living  _ for every noise torn from Thorin's throat; he bit hard into the aechmea marking again, and Thorin made one of his best ones yet.

_ Galth _ _ ȗ _ _ n, _ Bilbo sent, still biting and sucking on the mark. And he meant it: everything about Thorin was delicious. Thorin expressed his delight with a particularly long moan that was somewhat stuttered by his lover’s trusts.

Thorin was dead. Clearly he was dead and in the Halls of Mahal, because there was no way this amount of pleasure was even possible. 

He lost himself in the feel of Bilbo's breath panting against his skin, the cock inside him, the rhythmic slap of their skin, the rivers of sweat dripping down his body, Bilbo's hot hands against him. The sun was higher now, probably near midday, but he paid it no mind. 

He caught the exact moment that Bilbo's rhythm faltered and clenched in response. Bilbo came with a shout of Thorin's name, and blessed anvil, he  _ felt  _ Bilbo finish.  He continued clenching every few seconds, milking his tense One until Bilbo's orgasm had subsided. The burglar licked up his king’s back, catching a droplet of sweat with his tongue, and held him close for a minute or so as he caught his breath.

Once Bilbo had gathered himself, cheek to Thorin’s shoulder, he gave a slow thrust: a rolling of hips that made Thorin give a “mmmh” of approval. Thorin began grinding back, and together they began a slower rhythm, drenched in sweat. This lasted a few minutes until the dwarf teasingly asked,  _ Have you lost your strength so soon?  _

Bilbo snarled, non-malicious, violent passion immediately reignited. He switched his arms so his right one was around Thorin's waist and he reached up with his left hand. Through the bond he gave Thorin silent, wordless instructions to lean forward a little more. With this achieved, he gripped Thorin’s hair tight in his left fist and began fucking in earnest again. This time he was still fast, but he traded some of the wild speed for strength. He fucked Thorin with a brutality he had no idea he possessed before today, fucked him with everything he had, short nails digging across Thorin’s lower stomach and leaving deep red marks in their wake, Thorin's leaking cock occasionally bouncing off his hand when the dwarf pushed back into his thrusts. He continued to leave vivid love bites across Thorin's shoulders, the red standing out against the icy blue shapes.  Bilbo was marking him,  _ claiming  _ him, and Thorin loved every second of it. 

Both of them were a noisy mess of sex now, Bilbo having lost the ability to even  _ see _ straight anymore. There was nothing but  _ this.  _

The sun had definitely moved to the center of the sky by the time Thorin gave in and threw his pride to the wind; this whole time he had been unable to touch himself due to his ivy bindings, and he knew Bilbo wouldn't until he begged. The tables had  _ certainly  _ been turned from when he had teased Bilbo earlier.

His deep voice, wrecked from sex and broken from how close he was, was loud even compared to the sounds of their joining. He subconsciously spoke in Westron, an unconscious part of him recalling that Bilbo _wanted_ everyone to hear him. “Fasak, Bilbo! Touch me, touch me please, it hurts to not, Bilbo - please!” 

And who was Bilbo to deny that? Such a reasonable request said so prettily and with such good manners?

Bilbo pulled harder on Thorin's hair and pushed him forward with his chest - one more shot of adrenaline when Thorin  _ obeyed, _ blessed Valar that was  _ sexy.  _ At this position he dragged his right hand down Thorin’s stomach to further slick it with sweat; then he gripped Thorin’s thick cock, pulling just the way he liked. When he bit into the back of Thorin’s neck, it was game over.

“Bilbo!” Thorin shouted as he finally spilled. 

Bilbo immediately followed suit, burying himself to the hilt and shouting: “Rakl-gunru!”

“E ijbêlab!” Thorin moaned, his chest rumbling from the force of it.

When they fell from their peaks, Bilbo slipped out and off of Thorin, falling onto the bed and taking deep gasps of air. A thought released the vines, and Thorin pushed himself back from the headboard and collapsed beside him. Within seconds he was wrapped around Bilbo, their legs and arms tangled around each other, with his head on the hobbit’s shoulder. He nuzzled into the wet skin and Bilbo pressed short kisses to dark curls as his hands soothed the skin they could reach. They basked in their afterglow with warm midday sunlight streaming in through white curtains that gently fluttered in the wind. The sound of rushing water could be heard in the distance, and a cool breeze was on the summer air. This, coupled with their release, left them with a few minutes of utter peace.

“I love you,” Bilbo murmured into Thorin's hair a few minutes later. He would have apologized for his previous rough treatment, but thanks to the bond there was no need. Both knew how glorious that had been without a single word.

Thorin made a soft noise. “I love you too.” A thought crossed his mind, and he shifted somewhat so that he was propped up on an elbow looking down on his One.

Bilbo's breath caught at how beautiful Thorin looked: eyes bright blue and focused, cheeks flushed pink above a raven beard, dark hair unbraided and everywhere - with a few joined strands falling across his sharp nose and cheek with a rare, wry smile on his lips. Unbidden, the memory of that night so long ago came back to him:  _ What if this storm ends, and I don't see you, as you are now, ever again? _

Thorin's brow furrowed and he cupped Bilbo's cheek, automatically knowing the thought due to the bond being fully open. His voice was soft and deep as he spoke: “Do not think like that, ghivashel. We have over a century and a half ahead of us. No orc nor worm will steal that away. On my honor, I swear it.”

Bilbo closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head. His voice was quiet, remembering their emotional night before. “You cannot promise me that, Thorin...and you know it.”

Thorin leaned down and kissed him sweetly, a kiss of lips and love. When they parted he spoke quietly, also recalling their talk about Frerin the night before. 

“No, I suppose I cannot. But until my body fails, I will protect us with all I have. I honestly believe we will succeed in our quest.” He paused and chuckled, but it was an odd sort of laugh. “Though we are still far from the mountain, my faith in you is strong; you have proven yourself many times over. Yet equally, my fear has increased as well.” Bilbo noticed the shift in Thorin’s emotions, and he squeezed his dwarf closer in response. “I have begun to wonder during my crafting of your bonding gifts, and especially after our conversation last night, if this - this quest, the mountain, my homeland - is worth the risk of your life.” Here he pressed his forehead to Bilbo’s and his voice dropped into a near whisper. “I cannot bear the thought that my ambition could cause your death.  Without you, there is no I. I know how it sounds, given that we have only been bonded for a short month or so-”

Bilbo cut him off with a kiss. “Stop this nonsense, Thorin.” His voice was soft but sure, and Thorin  _ knew _ that he was truly gazing upon his consort, not just his lover. “Time is nothing for us when we share a mind. As for Erebor, the Lonely Mountain is your home.” He pressed his free hand to Thorin's chest. “It is in your heart, and you feel it always.” He cupped his cheek, thumb brushing over his jaw. “You trim your beard in shame, because though all others may have given up, you  _ cannot.  _ There is nothing wrong with that, and I will  _ not _ let you abandon your dream for your people because you fear for my life. I  _ can _ do it. Trust me. I will not let you down.”

They kissed gently, nothing more than a few pecks, then went back to cuddling. After their afterglow had fully subsided, Thorin laughed quietly at a thought; the same thought he had smiled wryly at earlier.

“Rakl-gunru? Where did you learn that? It is  _ quite  _ racy and dangerous, especially when saying that to a  _ king  _ of all people.”

Bilbo blushed. “Nori gave me some pointers...and I thought it was rather fitting for the moment.”

Thorin gave a full-out belly laugh and Bilbo pushed him away in mock exasperation, rolling off the bed and onto his feet while his lover continued to laugh. 

***********************

Once they had cleaned themselves up, Thorin and Bilbo snagged a quick bite to eat from the kitchens. After that, they went to meet Elrond. Horrendously late but they were showing up all the same. The entire way there, there was ample evidence of the previous night’s emotions and the morning’s sexual extravaganza. 

Virtually all of the foliage found in Rivendell had grown exponentially over the night. Flowers escaped their beds, bushes were in dire need of trimming, and a few walkways had small cracks; cracks caused by the roots of trees as they expanded outward while the trees grew. Vines ran along the walkways, curled around railings, and disappeared into the tops of trees. It gave a wild edge to the languid beauty surrounding them, an edge that reminded Bilbo of the old books on elven history he had read throughout his life. This train of thought caused  Thorin to recall the Noldor, or at least the tales of them. Those elves had been the wildest of all, enjoying mountains far more than their counterparts and truly understanding the dwarves’ love of metal and earth. Following up on Thorin’s thought of the Noldor, Bilbo thought about Feanor and Celebrimbor. He wondered if the famous craftsmen of old could have understood the beauty in what he and Thorin had created, and the dwarf made a thoughtful humming noise.

This type of silent, near wordless communication through the bond was not common for Thorin and Bilbo. Something had changed in the last day; a deluge of emotion and trust that had allowed the bond to strengthen.

Not all of the wildness was restricted to the plants, however. Equally, quite a few fountains were frozen solid. One in particular was extraordinarily beautiful, a gushing geyser coming out of a multi-colored riverstone base. The light played off the shoots of ice brighter than it played off of some gems, and the pair took a moment to admire it. When Bilbo asked Thorin when it would unfreeze, the dwarf just shrugged. 

All was well and good until they came around a corner near their destination. There, much to the pair’s mixed dismay and great amusement, was the Company. 

It appeared that the dwarves had gotten the idea to forgo the baths in their rooms and instead bathe and play in a massive fountain. It also appeared that they were  _ deeply  _ regretting their decision since most of the dwarves were stuck in the frozen water. Dwalin was an exception. It appeared that he had already busted out of the ice himself (evidenced by the Dwalin-sized hole in the ice nearby). He was cursing up a storm, kneeling on the ice buck naked while attacking the ice around Kili with the hilt of one of his axes in an effort to free him. Nori, the slippery bastard, just leaned mostly-nude against a nearby tree and leered at his One while he worked. 

A loud cheer arose as Thorin was spotted, along with a few muffled curses. 

“What's this?” Bilbo asked before dissolving into giggles. A great guffaw came from Thorin, unable to hide his feelings with Bilbo’s mirth added to his.

Dwalin interrupted their laugher with a huff and a glare. “Let them out already! I've had my knees on this blasted ice for too long already!”

When their laughter had dissolved into light chuckles, Thorin raised his right hand and concentrated. Mere moments later, he felt the magic melded to his blood awaken and the subsequent rush from calling it forth. “Maigbirî,” he murmured, coaxing the ice away from its most powerful state. The iced waves and ripples began to sweat. It was working, but it was slow.

Gloin huffed from his position on the fountain edge, held in the fountain only by his calves (and mercifully still in possession of his trousers). 

“Surely you can do this quicker? I mean no offense, but this is  _ miserable.” _

There were many noises of agreement from the company. Thorin looked like he was sucking on a lemon, unwilling to admit his limitations. Oin, who sat beside Balin on a towel, (the only two who completely avoided the ice, as Nori had managed to hop out only after nearly freezing) kept him from having to say it. 

“He cannae go too fast, lad.  Do you not remember the first night we were here? They went to bed after fighting the wargs and slept a day and a half! Magic has to recharge itself, and we're bloody lucky he didn't collapse mid-fight.”

Thorin frowned at the healer. “It is not working ice that is hard but the unmaking. The ice…” He trailed off for a moment and opened his senses, and Bilbo breathed in deeply as he absorbed Thorin’s observations firsthand. “The ice is alive, Balin. It is strong and knows it. It is...reluctant to part with its strength without dire need.”

All the dwarves just looked at him with varying degrees of oddness, though those that were bonded understood what he was saying. Fili broke the silence by calling out. “No dire need? Our family jewels won't make it out  _ functional _ at this pace!”

Kili picked up on his brother’s train of thought. “Do you want more nephews or not?!”

Chuckling met their words.  Thorin walked up to the fountain and placed his hands on the ice. He began to murmur lowly to it. In the background, Nori approached Bilbo sans shirt. 

“So,” his friend drawled. “Which one did you use to cause...this?” He extended a hand to encompass the gigantic, frozen fountain.

Bilbo smirked and told him.

Nori laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, which turned into pulling him in for a light forehead bash.

“You've got stones the size of boulders, Bilbo! Calling a  _ king  _ that?” 

The hobbit just kept smirking. “He said that himself, afterwards. He loved it though.”

Nori shook his head. “Oh, I bet.”

Their heads jerked towards the fountain when a loud  _ crack  _ split the air. A few cries of alarm went up, but quickly turned into cheers and encouragement when they realized what had happened. A large crack had appeared in the ice and warmed water began rushing up from it, melting the ice faster than before.

Thorin opened his eyes and moved back from the ice. He immediately stumbled, lightheaded. Bilbo and Nori rushed forward, each supporting a side and easing him to the ground as he got his bearings.

“I told ye! Done gone and overexerted yourself!” Oin huffed as he came forward. Thorin waved him away.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “Just need a moment.”

Oin raised an eyebrow and looked to Bilbo for confirmation. The hobbit nodded and smiled, then pecked Thorin on the cheek.

_ Look at you, my fearless dwarf. Taken down by a little bit of ice. _

Thorin growled. “Little bit of ice? That-” 

Bilbo cut him off with a laughing statement. “It was a joke! Relax.”

Thorin gave him a glare that showed he wasn’t impressed with Bilbo’s idea of a joke, but it softened considerably when his hobbit pecked him on the lips. 

Bilbo hopped to his feet and stuck out a hand for Thorin. The dwarf considered it for a moment before taking it and standing. A few more minutes passed as they waited for the ice to melt enough for the first of the dwarves to escape. After that, Bilbo insisted they leave as Elrond was waiting for them.

***********

The pair entered the room together. Elrond was already waiting for them with his daughter by his side.

“Thorin Oakenshield, this is my daughter, Arwen,” Elrond spoke.

Thorin inclined his head in greeting, then made a (mostly) unnoticeable jerking motion with his hand as Bilbo mentally pinched him. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” he added.

She smiled knowingly and curtsied. She moved to the side, and on the table behind her were two white-silk wrapped packages. 

Before the elves said anything else, Thorin spoke. 

“It is customary for the bonded to exchange gifts with their family near. If we may do ours first?”

Elrond nodded, but Arwen frowned.

“What about the younger ones?”

Thorin and Bilbo snorted simultaneously, and Bilbo spoke. “Those rascals have known about mine for a day or so now, Thorin’s for longer. They don’t exactly adhere to the rules.”

The dwarf king nodded his agreement, fond exasperation on his sharp features. “They’ve already seen them and approve of our match. Therefore, only you must be here.”

Elrond nodded and waved a hand, implying that they were to go on ahead. 

Thorin squared up to Bilbo and began speaking, voice strong and formal. 

“Bilbo Baggins, previously of the Shire and Rivendell; we have been bonded for roughly a month now, and both of us have agreed to further courting. Now, I present to you these throwing daggers forged by my own hand, so that they may defend you and yours from harm. You lost your own set in defense of your people, a noble gesture that was not forgotten.”

Thorin reached into the folds of his tunic and withdrew a small clothed bundle. Bilbo unwrapped it to reveal ten steel knives, each with a distinct feather pattern engraved. They were utterly  _ beautiful.  _ Once he had pulled himself out of his appreciation of them, he spoke the words that were needed to continue the process.

“Thorin Oakenshield, I accept your gifts and I find them worthy of my hand and your craft-talents.” Then he silently added,  _ I love them. You did incredibly, darling. _

Thorin warmed at the praise. He knew his gifts had been of good workmanship, but now he knew without a doubt that his One adored them.

Bilbo sat the knives on the table beside him and pulled out two bundles of cloth himself. “Thorin Oakenshield, I now present you with my gifts.” He handed Thorin the larger bundle. The dwarf unwrapped it to find a gorgeous, carved knife.

“Antler?” He questioned, voice quiet as he absorbed his gift. Bilbo nodded quickly, unsure if the knife was good enough. He checked the bond, but Thorin’s emotions were merely calm and curious with a sprinkle of anticipation. Thorin took the knife through a few motions, testing the weight and balance of it. Once he was done, he smiled to Bilbo and the bond lit up with satisfaction and pride.

“Bilbo Baggins, I accept your gift and I find it worthy of my hand and your craft-talents.” Thorin spoke in the formal language used in courting traditions, though the bond said far more than his words. 

They bowed to each other, and Bilbo sighed in relief.

“Well, now that that’s over with!” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a long, cylindrical bead, also carved of antler. He extended it to Thorin, who took it and examined his One’s workmanship. All the carvings were inlaid with an icy blue that matched Thorin’s markings and outlined with gold. An interlocking dwarven pattern circled the top and bottom of the bead and on one side, there was a rune signifying bond-marriage. The rune appeared as a diamond shape, with a line through the middle that extended upwards out of the diamond and resembled the khuzdul rune for a “dh” noise. On the other side was a primrose. The petals were the same blue as the rune, and gold was also inlaid in the center to complete the flower’s natural look. A natural overspill of the bond gave him the knowledge to understand that the flower meant, “I cannot live without you.”

Thorin eventually looked up at him with wide eyes. Awe, admiration, and adoration coursed through the bond. His voice was breathless and reverent when he said, “Bilbo.”

The named hobbit immediately found himself swept up into a bear hug, feet leaving the ground. When Thorin sat him down, he pushed their foreheads together.

_ There are no words to explain… _

_ You don’t have to. I feel it. _

Thorin pulled back and kissed his forehead, then put some space between them. He pulled out a braided leather bracelet. There were three beads on it. One signified the Line of Durin, another named him consort, and the third was near-identical to the bead that Bilbo had given him. Each were intricately carved in silver with black etchings. Though Thorin would have preferred to use gold, silver looked better on Bilbo; and it was fitting that Bilbo wear the metal of Thorin’s craft.

Bilbo looked over them with an apprentice’s eye; though he had naturally absorbed some knowledge from Thorin (just as Thorin had learned the flowers from him), he was no master.

Even so, he loved them all the same, and knew that he was holding a great deal of wealth; and not just the type that you could spend. 

After half a minute, Thorin spoke. “It’s on leather so you can wear it around your wrist until your hair is long enough.”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow and gave him an amused, wry grin. “Funnily enough, I’d figured that much out for myself.”

Thorin rolled his eyes and Bilbo raised up on his toes to kiss him chastely. “I love them.” Teasing entered his tone as he said, “But I’m fulling expecting another ear cuff some time. I haven’t forgotten about that, you know.” Bilbo winked and Thorin chuckled, remembering the time in Bag-End that he was referring to.

_ Thorin gazed at his softly pointed ear.  _ **_So different from the points of elves,_ ** _ thought the king. He shifted uncomfortably, the adornment looking entirely too good with the hobbit’s blond curls and steel blue eyes. _

_ Bilbo noticed his gaze and blushed lightly. “Would you like to see it?” Thorin seemed surprised at his offer but nodded. Bilbo reached up and softly unhooked the yielding metal. He stood and took the seat beside of Thorin, leaving his empty plate. A soft hand brushed a calloused one as the cuff traded hands, and a warmth bloomed from the skin contact. _

_ Thorin held the cuff at varying degrees and checked the workmanship. “Not bad,” he murmured. Once he was done examining it he handed it back to Bilbo, feeling that lovely warmth once again. “I could have done better,” he said with a cheeky grin. _

The pair turned to the elves after a few moments of wordless communication, their exchange completed. 

When Arwen spoke, her voice was as gentle and flowing as the river her home was named after.

“Since Bilbo’s parents have passed - may the Green Lady forever hold their souls - my family and I wish to impart the traditional bonding gifts. We have chosen two recently recovered relics; both were used by my kin in the first age.”

Elrond turned and picked up the first, smaller package. He carried it forward to Bilbo, who stood not even ten feet away. “First, Bilbo’s bonding gift.” He knelt and presented the wrapped cylinder. 

Bilbo reached forward and took it. He had only just began to unwrap it when the silk fell away, leaving a gleaming sword in its wake. He gasped quietly and inspected it with an awed smile. He traced the graceful elven etching with his index finger, already in love with the beautiful weapon. Thorin was equally as transfixed, mind flying as he discerned the weapon’s specifics.

“This-” Thorin paused and tilted his head, looking down at the weapon with wonder. “This is first age work. Excellent steel, of elven make...Noldor, specifically. It will glow blue when orcs are near.” He recalled their earlier conversation through the bond about the Noldor and silently added to Bilbo,  _ The Noldor are the only elves that have ever truly been friendly with dwarves. We bonded over our crafts, like the one that you are holding. They have essentially disappeared by now, but that fact remains. _

Elrond smiled and inclined his head in agreement. “Yes. You have a fine eye for recognizing craftsmanship, Master Oakenshield.”

Thorin gave a half smile and nod at the compliment. Bilbo finally looked up at his elven friend with a wide smile. “Your gift is accepted by both my bonded and I, Lord Elrond,” he formally said. Informally, he added with a wry grin: “Frankly, I haven’t the foggiest on how to actually use it, but I look forward to learning.”

Thorin put his arm around Bilbo’s waist, and they looked down at the weapon together. “I will teach you, mizimel. You will never want for defense again.”

Bilbo blanched. “You’ll go easy on me, right?”

The dwarf raised a dark eyebrow and spoke in a teasing voice. “Easy? I am not sure I know the word.”

Elrond and Arwen watched the exchange before them with amused curiosity, then shared a knowing look. Arwen picked up the second, larger package - also wrapped in white silk - and presented it to Thorin as her father had done. 

“Thorin Oakenshield, as the sister to your bonded in all but blood, I present this gift to you. May it protect your One and kin.”

Thorin released Bilbo’s waist and took the package, already knowing it was a sword. He unwrapped it, then stood stock still in shock. “No,” he breathed. “It is impossible.”

Elrond grinned, pleased with the dwarven king’s reaction. “It is very possible. Do you know his name?”

“Orcrist,” he breathed in awe. In one smooth motion, he pulled the sword from the scabbard, holding it at arm's-length and admiring the steel. “First age, created by the elves of old. Used by the Noldor king, Turgon, during the Goblin Wars. I thank you for your gifts. You honor both our families by it and I can think of no finer ones that could have been given.” He put the sword back in the scabbard and belted it around his waist, which had been empty beforehand on Bilbo’s request. 

He then extended his hand to Elrond. The elf hesitated, as physical contact was generally  _ not done  _ unless you were close kin, but he respected Thorin’s culture and extended his for a handshake. He was clearly surprised when Thorin instead took hold of his forearm, not expecting to be treated so equally. 

“Thank you, truly.”

Elrond could tell that there was more to that statement; he was being thanked for more than just the courting gifts. It warmed the ancient elf’s heart to know that Bilbo was so deeply loved, and he wished more than ever that Belladonna had survived the Fell Winter. He was sure that she would have been utterly  _ gleeful  _ to meet her son’s betrothed. Oh, how short the lifespan of mortals was. They were but sparks in the everlasting bonfire of time.

Then something queer happened, something that no one in the room had expected.

Elrond fell to his knees, eyes glazed over and mouth slack; Arwen was immediately at his side, holding him up.

Thorin was panicked but dealt with it well. “I did nothing! He-”

Bilbo cut him off, putting his hand on Thorin’s arm as he did so. He spoke soothingly, a note of worry coloring his tone.

“It’s okay, Thorin. He has the gift of foresight, and this...this is what happens when it hits him unexpectedly.” The hobbit looked to Arwen, who had been carefully watching her father for any signs of awakening. “Has he not had any of the usual symptoms? Trouble sleeping, headaches?”

Arwen shook her head, concerned. “None at all. This is very rare.” Suddenly her timeless gaze ensnared Thorin, and he found himself unable to look away. “It must be you,” she spoke softly.

Bilbo looked at them in surprise, though none were more surprised than Thorin himself. There was nothing really to say to that; after a minute or so of silence, Elrond gave a great shuddering intake of breath, and the haze over his eyes disappeared. No sooner had he asked for water than Bilbo was there, having anticipated the request. The elf lord took a few deep gulps before shakily setting down the goblet. 

Arwen helped him over to the loveseat on the balcony. A motion in the corner of her eye drew her gaze, and she saw two elves, two dwarves, and a human boy watching them. She gave her brothers, the Durins, and Estel a sharp look for their eavesdropping. Elrohir sighed, rolling his silver eyes and motioning for the others to climb down; all followed immediately, knowing the ruse was up...except for Kili, who shot her a cheeky wink first.

Once Elrond was settled, he motioned for Thorin and Bilbo to join him. They did so, sitting in elven-style chairs that surrounded a table that appeared to have been grown from three interlocking trees. Thorin waited patiently, far too out of his depth to demand any answers. After a minute of silence, Elrond speared Thorin with a gaze that brokered no argument.

“You will fall.” He spoke it simply, surely, and Thorin shivered as he felt the truth rip through him. “You will fall in battle and leave behind your One and unborn child if you two are not careful. Fili and Kili will fall alongside you.” Bilbo’s mouth dropped open in horror even as the elf continued. “Bilbo will attempt to return to the Shire, yet he will not make the journey. He will die from the severed bond in these halls, along with the babe. This  _ cannot occur. _ ” Here he learned forward, seriousness etched into every line of his face; nay, every line of his  _ being.  _ He gripped the side of the loveseat hard, hand shaking from the force of it...and the force of his memories, thousands of years old. The moment passed and he relaxed somewhat, taking a sip of water before continuing. 

“If this occurs, far more than your line will be lost. Yet, I have no doubt that if something else occurs to the babe and he does not make it, you will have another that will become the same person; I believe the dwarves say that Aule’s work is not yet done?” Thorin nodded hard, two swift jerks of his head. “So long as the two of you live, there is hope. But you _must understand_ that it is _essential_ you both survive _._ ”

Here, Thorin jumped in. “Should we return to Ered Luin?” 

Bilbo’s head jerked to him but before he could get out a word, Elrond was speaking again.

“No! Certainly do  _ not  _ return. You  _ must  _ reclaim the mountain. It is destined, one way or another.” Here he rubbed his face, exhausted and thinking of far too many things. “There are forces at work that you could not begin to comprehend; ancient, forgotten evils that are once again seeing the break of day. The firstborn to Bilbo will be the bane to these evils, though I did see great importance in your firstborn, but in a different way.”

“The heir to the throne,” Bilbo whispered, referring to the firstborn of Thorin’s. 

Elrond gave a small, thoughtful nod. “Yes. Yet it is necessary for you to know that you must be very, very careful. You are too important to lose, both of you. Middle Earth - nay, all of Arda - will suffer if you die.”

Bilbo leaned forward. “What can we change? This is good to know, but what does it matter if we have no clue on how to change it?”

Elrond frowned, looking at Thorin in a way the dwarf didn’t appreciate. The elf’s gaze shifted back to Bilbo, and he sized up his friend for a bit before replying.

“Do not barter the Arkenstone.”

Thorin jerked forward. “Barter?  _ Barter the Arkenstone?  _ The heirloom that we are trying to acquire? The whole  _ point  _ of this quest,  _ bartered?  _ It is the symbol of my family’s reign, our divine right-”

Elrond’s silver eyes flicked over to the dwarf, and he subsequently interrupted him. “I was not talking to you, Thorin son of Thrain.”

Thorin slowly turned his head to look at his One. Bilbo, for his part, was hopelessly confused.

“Why on  _ Arda  _ would I barter the  _ Arkenstone?”  _ He sniffed in his signature manner. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

Elrond let out the sigh of the long-suffering. 

“If Thorin falls to the gold sickness as I have foreseen, you  _ must  _ find another way to pull him out. In my vision, you watched his descent into madness and you became weaker by the day until he finally blocked you out in the bond. War threatened those you love, and you traded the Arkenstone for peace - a noble action, done with a loyal heart. Yet it broke him in his gold-mad state, and he cast you out. You did not reunite and make amends until it was too late, and the short separation cost you everything. But my visions are subject to change; this was the future as of a few minutes ago. Your choices  _ can _ alter the future.”

Thorin seemed to become smaller and smaller the more Elrond talked, hunching in on himself and practically drowning in self-hate. He knew, he had  _ known  _ that he would fall, had said so just the night before. He leaned his head against the back of the chair. Thanks to his numerous lessons in controlling his facial expressions, the only way to tell he was affected at all was the hard set of his jaw.

_ I am so sorry, amralimê. I should have told you about the gold sickness before we bonded - no, I never should have allowed us to bond. I was selfish, so selfish, thinking that for once I had been granted a true gift- _

“Enough!” Bilbo’s voice broke him out of his haze, though he refused to meet his eyes. “Enough of this.” He grabbed Thorin by the chin and made him look into his eyes. The hobbit was full of determination and fire. “Enough of this. Stop. Just stop. We can fix it, yeah? There’s another way. There’s always another way.” Thorin closed his eyes and shook his head minutely, honestly forgetting the elves in front of him. A quiet voice in Thorin’s head whispered,  _ “I am too young for this burden.” _

To Bilbo he said:  _ I will ruin us both in the end, just as my grandfather-  _

He stopped short when Bilbo hit him on the shoulder. Not enough to hurt by any means but enough to surprise and snap him to attention, as was the hobbit’s intention. When Bilbo spoke, his voice was serious and strong, confident in his words with an underlying desperation that Thorin  _ stop hating himself for a familial weakness _ .

“Fucking  _ stop.  _ I promised you, Thorin. And I won’t take that back. I wouldn’t take any of us back. My whole bloody  _ life  _ I’ve lived in limbo, always lost in my own head, dreaming of adventures that never took place. Then you walked into my smial, and my world was flipped upside down. For once,  _ I am living out my dreams,  _ with the added bonus of a devoted partner _.  _ And  _ you  _ are the one who made all that possible. We  _ will  _ reclaim the mountain, and we  _ will  _ live. I am sure that somewhere in your extensive libraries there is a cure of some sort, a grounding technique or two.” Bilbo leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together. 

Elrond sighed, leaning onto Arwen for support. “Since we read your grandfather’s map last night, you will undoubtedly leave tomorrow. I would offer to send a few soldiers with you, but…” He shrugged. “You would reject them.”

Thorin inclined his head in acknowledgement. “That is true. This is our quest and ours alone.”

Elrond nodded in weary assent. “Enjoy tonight, and do your best to not allow my foresight to weigh you down. It will be the last night of true safety and revelry you will have for awhile.” 

***************

Later that night found the Company sitting around a campfire. Elrohir, Elladan, and Estel were also with them, though Estel was only thirteen and was very quiet and pensive for his age. He said less than three words the entire night.

Elladan spoke, not considering the implications his words might carry. 

“You know, we were always told that dwarves were cold. As unfeeling as the stone they were born from and returned to.” When that was met with many offended looks, the young elf backtracked quickly. “Not that that’s true! Clearly it isn’t! Father told us so, and after meeting you all, it seems outrageous to accuse your race of such.”

Elrohir nodded at his twin’s words. “Oh yes. We always wondered what it would be like to meet dwarves, and I’m glad to say you were far different than what we were expecting. You know, one of those Greenwood elves once said you don’t love. Don’t love!” He shook his head, ignoring the quiet mutters around the circle from the dwarves. “I knew the first time I saw you two.” Here he pointed at Bilbo and Thorin. “That that was a lie.”

Elladan explained his twin’s words. “We may not be as strong or as wise as our father, but we can see the faint outlines of bonds; they look like glittering dust in the air for us, in varying colors. None that did not love could create such a bond.”

They nodded together, and finally the hushed muttering around camp ended.

“Right lads,” Gloin spoke. “As a bonded and married dwarf for over a century now, I personally am offended by this hearsay of dwarves not loving.” He held up a hand when the twins protested (“We said it wasn’t true!”). “We are going to share this with you, and likely all of your kin considering your choice of home.” At this the fire-bearded dwarf looked around at the open air, clearly lacking walls. “This is one of our work songs, sung by commoners such as ourselves–and even some of our nobles will join in here and there.” At this he winked at Thorin, who had been somewhat well-known as a romantic in his youth. Even when starving–well,  _ especially _ when starving–the people had to have  _ something _ to hold onto. 

As the dwarves began a low humming and created a beat with clapping, Elrohir caught a glimpse of Thorin and Bilbo looking at each other in that way that meant they were probably talking silently. He smiled when his hobbit friend did and nudged his brother to look as well. Happiness was something Bilbo had not had enough of in recent years, and the elf was very glad to see his small friend look completely at home for once. In his element, one could say. (Bilbo had always been somewhat reluctant to return to the Shire, though he never would say why.) 

The largest one–Bombur, Elladan recalled–had procured a drum. It had a surprisingly deep sound for something so small. He was surprised again when Thorin began to sing, not having expected their leader to start it off–or to sing with such a  _ common _ lilt to his words. 

Across from him, Bilbo also seemed surprised, though for a different reason. Thorin’s voice had been far deeper the other times he had sang, but Bilbo was equally pleased by the higher pitch. (It was high by dwarven standards, at least).

_ “Boys workin' on empty _ __  
_ Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat? _ __  
_ I just think about my baby _ __  
_ I'm so full of love I could barely eat.”  _ Thorin threw a wink to Bilbo who blushed and sent,  _ flatterer. _ __  
_ “There's nothing sweeter than my baby _ __  
_ I'd never want once from the cherry tree _ __  
_ 'Cause my baby's sweet as can be _ _  
_ __ He give me toothaches just from kissin' me.”

The dwarves began to sing as one, their voices rising and falling in a way that was nearly trance-like. Thorin’s voice was still louder than the others, and the elven twins shivered at the deep baritones and bass notes. The passion in the notes was unbridled, and neither had heard anything like it before.

_ “When, my, time comes around _ __  
_ Lay me gently in the cold dark earth _ __  
_ No grave can hold my body down _ _  
_ __ I'll crawl home to her.”

The sneak-thief Nori sang the next and looked at his One–Dwalin, one of the roughest of the group–with such devotion, you’d think the words had been written about him. Neither elf would ever know how close to truth that was. 

_ “That's when my baby found me _ __  
_ I was three days on a drunken sin _ __  
_ I woke with his walls around me _ __  
_ Nothin' in his room but an empty crib _ __  
_ And I was burnin' up a fever _ __  
_ I didn't care much how long I lived _ __  
_ But I swear I thought I dreamed him _ _  
_ __ He never asked me once about the wrong I did.”

They all sang together, and the music seemed to crescendo slightly.

_ “When, my, time comes around _ __  
_ Lay me gently in the cold dark earth _ __  
_ No grave can hold my body down _ _  
_ __ I'll crawl home to her.

_ When, my, time comes around _ __  
_ Lay me gently in the cold dark earth _ __  
_ No grave can hold my body down _ _  
_ __ I'll crawl home to her.”

Bofur sang next.

_ “My baby never fret none _ __  
_ About what my hands and my body done _ __  
_ If the Lord don't forgive me _ _  
_ __ I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me.”

Thorin’s voice joined Bofur. Elrohir wondered if there was a set order to it or if any who wanted to sing were allowed to join when they felt like it. He also found the pronoun switching interesting, but he figured it changed depending on the individual singer. That was confirmed when Thorin sang ‘he’ and Bofur sang ‘she.’

“ _ When I was kissing on my baby _ __  
_ And he put his love down soft and sweet _ __  
_ In the low lamp light I was free _ _  
_ __ The Halls and fear were words to me.”

One last time the dwarves sang together.

_ “When, my, time comes around _ __  
_ Lay me gently in the cold dark earth _ __  
_ No grave can hold my body down _ _  
_ __ I'll crawl home to her.

_ When, my, time comes around _ __  
_ Lay me gently in the cold dark earth _ __  
_ No grave can hold my body down _ _  
_ __ I'll crawl home to her.”

 

Their song with met with applause from the trio they were entertaining. After a few seconds, applause was also heard from throughout the settlement. A “thank you” for sharing something that was beautiful, and from a culture most elves had never had the pleasure (or displeasure) of experiencing properly.

The boys expressed their adoration for it in their own ways, and many more songs were sung that night by dwarves and elves alike.

******

A few hours later found the Company with just themselves for company, and a few too many drinks had been drank by everyone. A lull in conversation had occurred, everyone just enjoying the peace. In no time, it was broken by Bofur; as one could expect.

“Could I, perhaps…join in, sometime?” Bofur waved his pipe between Bilbo and Thorin before taking a drag.

Bilbo choked on his pipe from surprised laughter, while Thorin spoke lightly; neither were bothered in the slightest. 

“No, the closest you’re getting is the public claiming.”

“Public - claiming?!” Bilbo gasped through his coughing. He looked scandalized. “I need another drink for  _ this _ conversation.” And so one was passed down around the circle to him with a few laughs, and he caught his breath.

“Oh aye,” Nori winked as Bilbo began steadily gulping his drink. “Have to prove to the people and the court that your bond is true. You are to be married to our king, after all. Even the nobles go about it sometimes. Just in a much more discreet way, you understand.”

Gloin spoke up, “Lots of money involved in weddings. Families need to know they’re not being cheated, of course. By either party.”

“So they’ll all know?” Bilbo asked and elaborated when his dwarves seemed to be waiting for more. “So they’ll know without a doubt that we’re together and won’t try to woo Thorin?”

“Indeed.”

Nori winked again. “The better the performance, the less likely dwarves will try to get between you two.”

Bilbo smiled, not even minding the fact that he would have to have sex in front of half the bloody kingdom. Somewhere on the way, he had become confident enough to truly  _ not care  _ what others thought.

“Well that’s lovely. I was expecting to chase off would-be suitors with my gardening trowel and new pointy sword until the end of my days.”

Laugher met his words and once it had died down, Ori got his attention. “We do have laws against adultery with the bonded pairs, as one dwarf's decision affects the other’s well being-” Here he paused to belch, which was met with a light smattering of applause. “-But it is a very grey area of the law, as I'm sure you can imagine.”

As Bilbo mulled that over, Ori and a few other dwarves excused themselves for bed. It was late in the night, as the moon had begun its descent. This left seven at the fire: Bilbo, Thorin, Nori, Dwalin, Kili, Fili, and Bofur.

After awhile of light chatter and more ale, Bofur loudly changed the subject, his voice rising above the others’.

“So, how does he fit? We all know his hammer is bigger than most, Thorin’s not shy.”

In their current inebriated state, the question was fair game and treated as such. Bilbo would have bemoaned the lack of tact had he been in the Shire; but at that moment, he didn't quite know what a Shire even  _ was.  _ Still, dwarven culture was to be his now and he snorted in amusement when even Fili and Kili nodded at the question, forgetting their usual revulsion.

“Seriously, Uncle. He’s so  _ small _ ; where does it go?”

Bilbo shook his head and laughed, his silver tankard tipping dangerously. “You lot  _ are _ crass, aren’t you?”

All five instantly nodded in unison.

“Well, I honestly don’t know. Thorin?”

Thorin smirked, and he met Dwalin’s eyes. “It’s a tight fit.”

Dwalin’s eyebrow raised. “Tighter than Rubí Rísdam?” 

Bilbo gave a huff at the mention of a past encounter, but Thorin’s smirk just grew as he waved a hand at their surroundings.

“She might as well have been this valley.”

Dwalin whistled low and nodded in awed approval.  _ “Well.” _

Thorin wasn’t even trying to be humble; he grinned outright, and Bilbo smacked his arm lightly for it. “What, do you measure all your…your… _ relations  _ by her?”

“Oh aye,” Dwalin laughed, wrapping his arm around Nori’s shoulder. The way they leaned heavily on each other and swayed betrayed how drunk they had become, and all five were on that level. (Fili and Kili made seven in total around the fire, but they were only buzzed.) “Bedded her together, in fact. Never a tighter fit until our Ones.”

Bilbo turned about four different shades of red before landing on one that was nearly purple. “T-t-together?!” He blurted, looking between Thorin and Dwalin in shock. Fili and Kili had an identical reaction, never having heard  _ this  _ story before. Thorin, as drunk as Dwalin, laughed heartily as his friend replied.

“Oh aye.” Dwalin winked at Bilbo. “That’s how she wanted us, and we were about seventy and figured aye, why not?”

Bofur (sitting on Nori’s other side) tipped over and rolled on the floor in laughter, having given up on all propriety since their conversation  _ clearly _ had as well. Fili and Kili groaned and ran for their room, covering their ears and yelling loudly about how they would be scarred for life.  _ “Life, I tell you! Life!” _ Bilbo wanted to agree, but…well…the elvish wine was doing its job of loosening him up, and he  _ was  _ a red-blooded male after all. He shifted slightly, and Thorin perked his head up and gave him a look of surprised glee. 

“You  _ like  _ the idea,” he rumbled and began to guffaw again. 

“Well I! I never! I don’t-don’t-“ Bilbo sputtered, trying to remain  _ properly _ indignant in the face of Thorin’s mirth and his own arousal.

“Don’t what, little hobbit?” Nori asked, swinging his tankard around in a circle. “It’d be hot, admit it.”

Bilbo gaped. “You!” He pointed accusingly at the smaller dwarf before finally beginning to laugh. “You–you of all people should  _ not _ –Dwalin is your  _ One!” _

Nori just laughed with Thorin, Dwalin, and Bofur, though they continued even as the thief replied. “Oh of  _ course  _ it’s hot, Bilbo. Durin’s balls,  _ look at them!  _ Bloody king and king’s guard, both fine dwarven specimens, a nice broad in the middle…nothing to be ashamed of!”

Thorin suddenly found himself with a lap-full of hobbit and completely horizontal. He moaned deeply when Bilbo pilfered his mouth, kissing back and even instinctively bucking when Bilbo sucked his tongue. Suddenly Bilbo pulled back, holding onto Thorin’s braids and some of his hair while the dwarf reeled from the unexpected…well, everything.

“You are  _ mine _ .” Bilbo told him with more than a hint of authority in his voice. Considering what had occurred with Marielle the other day, Thorin was just glad that Bilbo hadn’t immediately swallowed his cock in front of their companions. (Not that he  _ truly  _ would have minded.) Bilbo ground his hips down and Thorin bucked again, craving that solid contact. 

“Mahal yes,” he breathed, wide eyed and in awe of Bilbo’s possessive (but very, very welcome) attack.

Nori’s laughter rang out loud, even louder than Bofur’s. “Feisty little thing, aren’t you!”

Dwalin tugged on his One’s courting braid, a flirtatious move among dwarves. “Aye, just as feisty a little thing as you.” He winked.

“I am not little!”

“Oh yes you are. I could fit you in my saddlebag!”

“You take that back!”

And then–Mahal behold–Nori  _ tickled  _ the blasted dwarf until he, quite literally, begged for mercy. Bofur was losing his mind from the hilarity of it all, and Bilbo and Thorin’s faces–horizontal, yet diagonal from the group so they could see–made it even better. 

“Dwalin is ticklish?” Bilbo asked from his perch in slightly slurred disbelief. (It was incredible how well he could hold his speech, even being smash-drunk. Bofur would compliment him on it at brunch the next day, since none of them would bother with an early breakfast. Thorin was satisfied with them leaving around noon.)

Nori let up on his tickle assault, and Dwalin narrowed his eyes at Bilbo. “King’s consort or not, if you ever try to-”

Bilbo sat up on Thorin's lap and threw his hands up in surrender, cutting off Dwalin.  “I would never! I do value my life! And seeing as it has become so much  _ more _ recently, I would never jeopardize it for something so trivial!”

Dwalin grunted. “Good.” The the burly dwarf stood and scooped up his One, ignoring the small dwarf’s protests that  _ he could walk you know.  _ Nori winked at Bilbo and said to Dwalin. _ “ _ But I know you get off on this carrying me thing, so go right ahead!”

The rest of the night was spent making love and sleeping, not a care in the world for what tomorrow held.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that wraps up Rivendell! Let me know what you think!! :D  
> Badassery incoming next chapter! <3  
> The details of Elladan, Elrohir, Estel, Kili, and Fili are coming up in "Letters Home." I should have it done by the time I post the next chapter. Sorry I couldn't put it here, but for pacing's sake, it is necessary :/
> 
> EDIT: HERE IS THE SONG: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H3g0d6Cgqyg Work Song by Hozier, I own nothing
> 
> Bilbo's knife for Thorin:  
> https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B-xGz352qt1raFpnN3dGV00zSHM  
> With the hilt of this one:  
> https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B-xGz352qt1rSWdoM21CandQWGM
> 
> Bilbo's bead to Thorin:  
> Base Idea - https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B-xGz352qt1rNW5XcTdFcFJyQWs  
> Flower- https://assets.bakker.com/ProductPics/810x978/83598-02-BAKI_20130307135329.jpg  
> Bond-Marriage Rune - https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/0c/3b/68/0c3b68b12e290a7a9a0fbf1eac9293f2.jpg
> 
> Thorin's beads to Bilbo:  
> Symbol on the back: https://img1.etsystatic.com/184/0/12522669/il_fullxfull.1276602727_f0ho.jpg  
> What it looks like but with different runes and more angular patterns: https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B-xGz352qt1rTTQzVWlnaUZEams
> 
> Translations from the Dwarrow Scholar:  
> Maigbirî - melt, be melted!  
> Rakl-gunru - precious property, to be used VERY CAREFULLY  
> E ijbêlab! - I agree  
> Mizimel - little jewel  
> Galthun - delicious  
> Marali - element of (the) love (passion)  
> Kurkarukê - my little raven  
> Fasak - fuck


	13. Giants and Goblins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are back after a long hiatus! Stone giants, goblins, and much more are in store!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE!!!! Posted from my phone, so if there are any formatting or spacing errors that's why.
> 
> Btw, from now on EshnyDreamer will be my beta!

Leaving Imladris was hard for Bilbo, but he put on a brave face for his elven friends and did not allow himself to linger. It was a mere week before they reached the Misty Mountains, and Bilbo was surprised to see the mood of his companions drop drastically. Even Ori seemed to become quite stony towards him and thus, one day on their journey Bilbo found himself going to Balin for answers.

Bilbo slipped back behind his comrades as they traveled, largely unnoticed as they carried on in conversation. He made sure to check his footing because they were atop a mountain range, and while such a magnificent view of vast lands far away filled him with a pure soaring feeling, such a view was certainly deadly and should be treated with the caution it was due.

When he finally reached Balin, the hobbit wasted no time with small talk and jumped right to the point.

“Is there any particular reason everyone is acting so odd? Ever since we crossed into the mountains it's been far quieter than I have grown accustomed to from this lot.”

His friend sighed and stroked his long white beard, thoughtful on how to reply. “There are a lot of bad memories for us here, lad. Not only for our people; but also personally. We have lived a long time, but some wounds take longer than others to heal.”

Bilbo frowned and looked out across the vast land that was visible from their vantage point.

“I don't follow. I'm afraid hobbit culture is not fond of education on other races’ histories; only on our own lineages and land.”

Balin hummed in reply and seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “Long ago, beneath our very feet, the Sons of Durin reigned for centuries in our most impressive city of all: Khazad-Dum. The mines flowed with riches and our people were happy and wealthy. These particular mines are full of the most expensive and precious metal in Middle Earth, you know. Do you know which metal that would be?”

Bilbo scrunched up his nose. “I want to say gold but…” he hesitated.

Balin raised an eyebrow. “But?”

The hobbit bit his lip. “Something is telling me Mithril. I haven't the foggiest on what Mithril is, for the record.”

Balin’s expression widened into pleasant surprise. “You two have bonded quite closely, haven't you? First Thorin with the flowers back in Bree and now you with our metals.”

Bilbo frowned. “Sorry, I don't follow?”

Balin chuckled. “Did he not tell you that he knows the names and meanings of far too many flowers? All of which he had no clue on before you bonded?”

Bilbo smiled fondly and glanced at his One. “No, he didn't.” The smile dimmed a little at a thought. “Does he...does he mind? Does he find it inferior? Or…”

Balin looked at him strangely as he trailed off. “No, not at all lad. He is quite taken with your exoticness.”

“Exotic!” Bilbo laughed. “He did tell me that, but I still find it hard to believe.”

“Trust me, lad. Thorin finds more than your cultural differences alluring; it's physical too, and he is not an outlier. Truly, the only reason why you have not been approached by any members of the Company is because they knew from the start that Thorin was interested. He made that very clear the night Bofur made his move.”

Bilbo gaped at him, unable to absorb what he was being told as truth, and Balin grinned knowingly. “You would have to understand dwarven beauty standards to understand that. There are two types for our kind: the brawny type like Dwalin and Gloin,” he gestured to the pair, “And the angular type like Thorin and Kili. You fall into the angular category with your jawline, and your weight loss on our journey has accentuated that. Yet you are also small and handsome with your gold curls; gold is a rare hair color amongst our kind. And as we are dwarves, it is coveted. Anyway!” He waved his hand dismissively. “Back to the topic at hand.”

Bilbo nodded. “Ah, yes. Mines of mithril. What makes it so special?”

Balin’s voice became melancholy as he described the metal his race was once best known for working with. “It is silver steel. No blade can pierce it. Far more precious than any other metal to be found in Arda. Our mines for Mithril were in Khazad-Dum, and…... it was lost, ages ago.”

Bilbo waited patiently as his mentor took a moment to gather the thoughts he was clearly lost in. After a few minutes of silence Balin continued speaking, and after a quick glimpse of the dwarf’s face, Bilbo looked away again respectfully.

“Truly...we dug too deep. We unearthed something that was buried long ago and we were no match for its strength, no matter all our knowledge and expertise.” There was another pause. “Have you ever heard of a Balrog?”

Bilbo’s head snapped around so fast it was a miracle he didn't get whiplash.

“A Balrog?!”

“Aye. I take it you've heard of them.”

Bilbo was floored. “Certainly! They were in the tales that Elrond told me as a child.”

“Then clearly you can see why we lost our home, and why we loathe traveling through. It is the greatest reminder of our failures and our hubris.”

Bilbo nodded, completely understanding. An odd thought crossed his mind, and he voiced it.

“You know, it's a bit odd now that I think about it, but even though I learned a fair bit of Men’s and Elven history from Lord Elrond, he never taught me of the dwarves. He can even speak Ancient Dwarvish! And barely a word was spoken on the subject, as far as I recall.”

Balin smiled, a true smile.

“That was good of him. We are a jealous race, and while we do not wish to hide our history...Lord Elrond knows things that most probably do not know about us, and he likely did not wish to even bring up the topic for fear of a slip of the tongue. It would be different for his own kin, but a wee hobbit lad? Nay. I can see his reasonings.” Balin clapped him on the shoulder. “You were supposed to stay in the Shire, after all! He never would have expected you to bind to our king!”

Bilbo grinned at his One’s back, dozens of feet away.

“No, I suppose he could not have.” After a moment he became serious and said, “Thank you, Balin. Truly. With everyone’s change in mood I was beginning to think...well, I don't know what I was beginning to think, but it wasn't good.”

The old dwarf couldn't help but smile broader upon seeing the genuine gratitude Bilbo displayed. He had a feeling that no matter how long he lived, this hobbit would always manage to surprise him.

********************************

Bilbo had heard many stories over the years and even created quite a few himself. However, nothing could have prepared him for the sheer _size_ of the mountain giants. They were as tall (perhaps even taller) than the mountains around them, and to find himself _on_ one was utterly horrifying. One moment it had been raining buckets, and the next, the ground beneath his feet was moving. The mountain that he and the Company had been traversing for the better part of an hour came alive with the storm and began hurling gargantuan pieces of mountainside at its kin, which responded in kind as the night lit up with lightning strikes. Fear swiftly turned to desperation. This was not a foe that could be poisoned, cajoled, or stabbed. This was a force of nature that could squash them by pure accident. All they could do was try to stay together in whatever shelter was allowed to them at that moment, clinging onto the giant as fleas might cling to a dog, and pray that a stray boulder may not end the Quest there and then.

After a few minutes of heart-wrenching panic, the mountain giants finally exhausted their capacity for destruction and everyone landed safely. Thorin simultaneously smiled and exhaled in relief when he saw that their company was intact; then he spun around when the bond didn’t stop singing in fear.

“Bilbo!” he shouted, immediately tossing off his pack. Dwalin’s head snapped to him but Thorin didn’t see it; he didn’t see anything but the small, pale hand desperately clutching the edge of the cliff. Without thinking he tossed himself over the edge and boosted up Bilbo - then the ledge beneath him crumbled and for a single, gut-dropping moment, he was falling. Only Dwalin’s hand saved him.

“I thought we lost our burglar,” Dwalin quipped once their feet were on solid stone, praise in his tone for his king’s quick thinking.

It set Thorin off.

“What were you thinking?!” He yelled over the sound of the storm. Bilbo’s head jerked up from where he had been gratefully sitting on blessedly solid mountainside. Thorin ignored the pang of hurt and confusion through the bond as he stared into those darkened eyes, and felt a furious desperation fill him. “You should never have come!” Gasps rang out even amongst the raging storm. “We should have left you in the Shire!”

The bond went dead silent, and Thorin cursed himself thrice over. Anger was the last thing Bilbo felt from him. He could not feel his remorse. Still, Thorin refused to take back his words. He _should_ have left him in the Shire, should have left him where he was _safe,_ should never have tried to bring a gentle hobbit out into the cruel coldness of the world. Should never have shackled a kind soul to himself, a failing king-in-exile who would undoubtedly face many violent trials before the end of his time...that is, if he even lived to see their quest fulfilled.

Should have left those hazel eyes and blond curls where they _belonged_ instead of dragging him across all of Arda in a suicide-like attempt to reclaim a homeland that wasn’t even _his._

The silence as Thorin led them on was painfully awkward, torturously so, and none of the Company was immune to it. Thorin was lost in dark thoughts, and Bilbo’s jaw did not unclench for a single second.

Even as he spotted a cave and commanded his company into it, he really _thought_ about his previous statement. _Did_ Bilbo belong in the Shire after all? Had Thorin allowed his feelings to cloud his judgement?

He flashed back to waking in Rivendell with Bilbo's head pillowed on his arm, the hobbit's face peaceful in sleep while the golden hue cast by the morning sunlight made him look like some long forgotten god. He thought about the way Bilbo handled his knives, both the old ones and the new, and how he had saved his life from bandits the first time they fought together.

Thorin came back to himself and commanded Dwalin to search the cave. He would tolerate no unpleasant surprises tonight. The last thing they needed was to share this refuge with an angry bear or some other mountainside creature. When given the all-clear, he realized that he was almost _cold._ The chill from their soaked clothes must have been unbearable for the less experienced of the company...especially Bilbo. Thorin looked over at him huddled with Ori and Bofur and wished more than anything that he could warm him up.  

“Alright, time to start a fire!” Gloin called jollily as he rubbed his hands together in preparation, perhaps trying to lighten the dour mood as well as stave off the cold. Just when his ruby markings flared, a sure sign that he was tapping into his magic, Thorin stopped him.

“No, no fires. Not in this place.” His voice was flat but commanding. A fire here was too risky. He turned his attention to other matters. “Bofur! Take first watch.”

Bofur’s eyes flicked from his king’s eyes to his chest, sizing him up momentarily. Truth be told, had Thorin been a less intimidating dwarf, Bofur may have fought him on the spot for the words he had said to Bilbo. Not that Bilbo needed someone to defend his honor of course, but what Thorin had said was downright cruel and Bofur was nothing if but a loyal friend. In the end, his loyalties were tied so he did nothing but obey the order, trusting that his king and consort would work it out.

“Everybody get some sleep,” Thorin commanded the others quietly. He was well aware of Bofur’s thought process and didn’t make eye contact with him again. “We start at first light.”  

He laid his pack at the back of the cave and far away from others, not sparing a thought for his Company’s rogue wizard.

As he spread out his bedroll, he thought on Bilbo again. This would be the first time he slept without his One in his arms since they had bonded months ago, and the thought tugged at him. Having Bilbo’s soft, warm body against his at night was just as much a comfort as feeling his kind, brilliant mind during the day. Thorin felt warm as he remembered the way Bilbo had kissed him awake that very morning, gentle pecks peppered against his face and neck until he had woken with an unhappy groan.

He thought about the way those hazel eyes, oh so blue that night, had looked at him with shameless curiosity around a campfire back in the very beginning, glazed and red during a night of merriment; even when Thorin had done nothing to deserve such a gaze, much less the simple kindness of sharing a pipe. It had been entirely unexpected. Respect, courtesy, and even _reverence_ he was used to. But affectionate consideration? No, Thorin Oakenshield had not been used to that.

He thought about the quirk of Bilbo’s lip that would tell you if he was serious or just embracing the company’s crass humor, and the way his nose twitched in that adorable manner. The way Bilbo had taken that would-be braid-slicer to the ground in an instant, reacting faster than Thorin himself and experiencing _Ukhzuru-Hugrel._.. the way he had sucked down Thorin’s cock in a storeroom right after, gripping pale, muscular hips tight enough to leave red marks as he laid claim to his One’s body, not being satisfied until he had tasted every last drop.

No, Bilbo Baggins did not belong in the Shire, no more than Thorin Oakenshield would have. For better or worse they had changed each other, and neither would return to the paths they began on.

Thorin winced. He had to apologize. Again. He shuddered at the hit to his pride and sensibility. What was he thinking, saying something like that to begin with? Damn his anger and fear to Mordor and back.

As Thorin came back to his surroundings, he realized that mildly angry muttering was going on throughout the company as they set up for sleep. He paid them a single glance before turning back to his bedroll. He expected them to be unhappy with him right now, for multiple reasons.

What he didn’t expect was to be caught off balance, flipped around, and shoved back-first against the cave wall.

Bilbo’s eyes were dark, appearing quite black in the dimness of the cave and Thorin’s breath caught at how utterly _gorgeous_ he looked, even with his curls sopping wet and plastered to his head. Gorgeous, dangerous _,_ and all _his._ His eyes opened wide to drink him all in.

 _“How dare you,”_ Bilbo hissed, gripping the front of Thorin’s armor. He felt no small amount of satisfaction at the shocked, wide-eyed expression Thorin held. The hobbit’s adorable nose was scrunched into a snarl, and Thorin had the presence of mind to be somewhat ashamed of how arousing he found the expression. “How _dare_ you say you should have left me behind! NONE of that was my fault! Perhaps _I_ should be mad at _you_ for leading me through a path that tried to kill me, hmm?!”

Thorin shook some wet ringlets out of his face before replying seriously, “Everything will try to kill you.” His voice was as level and rumbly as usual, though his accent was rougher. He crossed his arms and slouched against the rock wall at his back. “Everything will try to kill you, possibly even some of our own people if we succeed. Therefore, in a way, I was right. We never should have brought you along. You _should_ have stayed where you were safe _,_ protected from the world-”

The sharp noise of a wet slap rang out, and Thorin’s face morphed into an expression of incredulous affront. The company was also surprised, but no one dared to move an inch as their leaders had a domestic. A few looked to the cave entrance longingly, but none would brave the elements that night.

“How dare you!” He pushed off of Thorin’s armor so he could gesture with his hands while he ranted. “How can you say that after everything?! I know it hasn't been long, but I have always believed in quality over quantity and our time has been _quite_ beautiful! Not to mention that I was bloody _miserable_ in the Shire compared to how happy I’ve been on the road! Do you _know_ how excited I was when I found my first callous from practicing with my sword? Do you _know_ how proud I was when I killed that goblin scout with it not even a day ago? Do you have any idea how _far_ I am willing to go for you? Of course you do, you know all of this, because _you’re in my head!”_ Bilbo raised to his tiptoes and tapped his head for effect, before rocking back to his heels and making a sharp hand motion with the next sentence. “ _Don’t_ act like I’m everything you’ve ever wanted one minute and then decide I’m such a burden for you the next! I’m done with it, Thorin. It’s completely disrespectful, demeaning, and unacceptable.” He shook his head angrily. “I won’t have it.”

“I’m not saying I WISH I had left you, I’m saying it would have been better for your safety!” Thorin shouted.

A cough sounded behind them and Kili interjected: “Uncle gets mad when he’s worried. Not that that’s an excuse or anything-” He caught sight of Thorin’s death glare and cut off, looking away and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

Bilbo crossed his arms and his face held a deep frown. He shook his head. “I don’t care that you’re worried or that it means you love me. I won’t tolerate disrespect, least of all from my One. King or no.” He pointed at Thorin momentarily. “You knew from the beginning that I care nothing for titles, only those behind them; and I know you, Thorin, and you are better than this. We both are.”

Suddenly there was a wordless shout of alarm from one of the Company members - and then, of course, the floor disappeared from beneath them.

****************************************************************************

After a very long and bruising fall, the company found themselves face-to-face with goblin spears. More than a few curses were said as they were forcibly led away to who-knows-where. At one point Bilbo tried to slip away but was caught by an especially ugly, beady-eyed goblin and only got a kick in the gut for his troubles. (And if that very goblin happened to slip on the only patch of ice in Goblin Town and fly off into the abyss moments later, no one was the wiser.)

“Thorin,” Dwalin huffed as he shuffled against his bonds to be marginally closer to his king. “Do you think we could-”

Thorin muttered back, “No. There’s too many. We won’t make it halfway through their ranks before passing out.” He didn’t need to say the obvious. If they passed out they were dead for sure, and Thorin had not braved bandits, warg packs, mountain giants and far worse just to have his unconscious throat slit by a measly goblin. No, playing along with these disgusting creatures was the only way to get out of here in one piece. Assuming, of course, that they weren’t just dinner.

Thorin wanted to open the bond. Oh, how he wanted to open the bond. But it was too risky here, surrounded by enemies when Bilbo’s emotions might throw him off. There was plenty they needed to share, but now was not the time nor place. If he opened the floodgates now, he would risk the welfare of the entire company and his One if he allowed himself to become distracted.

 _Weak,_ a shadow of a memory hissed at him. _It is weak to depend on your other half for anything, weak to need them, besides, who would want -_

 **_Enough!_ ** Thorin violently severed his train of thought right there. This was no time for self-pity, or letting in old demons to play. No, he had twelve dwarves and a hobbit - _his other half -_ to protect. He needed to be at the top of his game. There was too much at stake.

Speaking of his One…

Thorin looked back to see Bilbo clearly miserable, looking around at his surroundings with unveiled disgust and horror. _Welcome to the worst our world has to offer,_ he thought to himself. To his knowledge, Bilbo would be the first hobbit to ever see the harsh reality that could fester beneath even the most idyllic parts of the world. In fact, most sentient beings weren't even aware the world could _be_ this nasty, but one in particular was well aware now.

********************************

For Bilbo, the most disconcerting thing about Goblin Town was not the goblins skittering up bare stone, nor was it the Town itself, which was such a squalid, unhygienic place that it boggled the mind how anything could live here. No, it was the fact that nothing was _alive._ No matter how hard Bilbo tried, the tendrils of magic he sent out kept coming up short. He felt cold, bereft of the usual comfort he derived from living things.

For an interminable time, they were led over precarious rope bridges and wooden platforms that creaked and sagged under the weight of the Company. Along the way were bodies of dismembered creatures and people alike. Once, Bilbo had to tiptoe and manoeuvre to avoid stepping in the befouled remains of a Man who had been left in the middle of the path. As grieved and angry as he was, he still had time to regret - for the first time in his life - his lack of footwear. A ways after that, the most disgusting stench he had ever smelt was emanating from a particularly gruesome signpost, made out of decomposing pig snouts and human limbs. The horror of it finally pushed him over the edge and made him lose his measly dinner, which caused the goblins around him to titter in amusement.

“The thing must not be used to us! Oh no, no, it will be much worse when you meet our king! Till you meet the mangler, and he makes you into something worse than this, oh yes!”

Cold fear filled Bilbo’s heart and filled his eyes with terror, but he clenched his teeth and continued in their disgusting parade, forcing his feet to keep moving, one in front of the other. He would not become that. While any of the Company lived, they would not allow their comrades to be made into such an abomination, to be reduced to such a thing. He reached out along the bond, swallowing his pride and seeking comfort, and found Thorin’s barely-there touch along his shields. The dwarf had been attempting to reassure him all along. Bilbo sighed in relief and felt a little of his pain, outrage, and perhaps even a little of his fear leave him as he realised that despite their argument, he was not alone. He pushed against the caress, trying to open the bond, but the hand disappeared and Thorin, in the front of their pack and therefore on a different bridge parallel to him, snapped his eyes to him.

“Focus,” the dwarf mouthed.

Bilbo frowned, unable to comprehend what his One had meant by that. He asked Nori (who was in front of him) and the dwarf quietly explained: “You ain’t been bound long enough to fight in true chaos without each other’s senses gettin’ in the way. He’s protectin’ both of you.”

Bilbo frowned but gave a nod the dwarf never saw. Whether he liked it or not, he could see the sense in what Nori was saying. A little ways further and they were led onto a platform that seemed to be in the center of the place, surrounded on all sides by a huge cavern. A gigantic...creature...was sitting in a crude throne made of bones and carved wood. As if on cue, the horde of goblins began to stamp their feet and clang bones together to create a nauseating beat.  He and the Company were then subjected to a song that barely held the meaning of the word “song;” a song that would have offended his ears even had he not heard the loveliness of Elven music, and the deep passion of Dwarven music. At the end, the creature who sang it said, in a tone that smacked of false humility, “One of my own compositions.”

Balin, in a show of bravery that Bilbo simultaneously sighed at and firmly agreed with, shouted: “That’s not a song, it’s an abomination!”

The so-called “King” did not seem the slightest bit bothered by the insult. “Abominations, mutations, deviations, that’s all you’re gonna find down here.”

Bilbo wholeheartedly agreed with this shameless admission as their company came to a stop before the rancid throne, and he found himself jostled to the middle and by Thorin’s side by their dwarves. There was no time for many words to pass between the two, no time for much of anything really, but regardless Thorin ducked to Bilbo’s ear while the goblins were preoccupied with Balin, on the other side of the group.

“Be strong,” he muttered as the Goblin King continued to rant about the quality of his music and people. “I know that nothing you have seen so far has prepared you for this, and I would open the bond for reassurance if I could; but it is not safe when-”

Bilbo cut him off. “I know. Nori.”

A small upturn to the side of Thorin’s lips betrayed his affection, and as he moved away he brushed a kiss to Bilbo’s damp curls. Though road-worn, his One’s hair still had an underlying natural sweetness and he breathed it in happily. Their vagrant wizard was right after all; it really was the little things that held hopelessness and darkness at bay.

They were then disarmed by their goblin hosts, much to the anger and frustration of the dwarves; however none of them put up much resistance as it was futile under such circumstances.

“Who would be so bold as to come armed into _my_ kingdom?!” The Goblin King demanded. “Spies? Thieves? Assassins?!” At each accusation, the audience of goblins hissed, booed and shook their grimy fists in the direction of the Company.

Thieves, were they? Bilbo sniggered under his breath, but somehow managed to keep a straight face. He may well be a burglar, at least according to Gandalf, but _what,_ exactly, was worth stealing in this godforsaken realm? Thorin met his eyes and pursed his lips, one arched eyebrow betraying his shared amusement at such an accusation.

“Dwarves, your malevolence.”

“Dwarves?”

“We found them on the front porch.”

Bilbo rubbed his forehead. Front porch. Of course. Only Thorin’s sense of direction, _honestly._

By the time they had been searched, Bilbo was done. Utterly _done_ with goblins, _done_ with this horrendously barren place, and _done_ with the path that had brought him here. The Misty Mountains, he decided, were certainly not for him. Then Nori got caught with the elvish candleholders and other various items of elven finery, and Bilbo honestly could have brained him and not cared one bit. Stealing from his friends?! Not to mention the fact that appearing to be in league with elves would make this far worse for them.

“What are you ugly folk doing in these parts?”

Almost as if rising to a challenge, the dwarves began to talk over one another in their haste to either explain away their presence. A bad lie from Oin and a surprisingly _worse_ lie from Bofur had the Goblin King declaring, “If they will not talk, we’ll make them squawk! Bring up the mangler! Bring up the bone-breaker!”

Bilbo grasped Thorin’s hand, and his dwarf gave him a strong squeeze.

“Start with the youngest!”

Fili, Kili, and Ori looked between each other in horror. Could goblins even tell who was the youngest?!

“WAIT!”

Despite Bilbo’s fear, Thorin let his hand fall and stepped to the front of their group. The Goblin King’s face morphed into amusement.

“Well, well, well, look who we have here. Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain.” The goblin gave a fake, over exaggerated bow and Bilbo’s blood boiled despite his fear; a boil that only increased with the next sentence. “Oh, but I’m forgetting - you don’t _have_ a mountain. And you’re not quite a king. Which makes you...nobody, really.”

Even with the bond at its absolute lowest, the _shame_ those words created was enough to be felt. Bilbo’s vision swam, and he nearly lost his head in anger right then and there. How _dare_ that _thing_ mock his lover, mock the hardships that Thorin had faced and conquered. How _dare_ it dismiss everything he had worked for!

“I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head. Just a head, mind. Perhaps you know of who I speak...An old enemy of yours. A pale orc, astride a white warg.”

“Azog the Defiler was _destroyed.”_ The desperation in Thorin’s words made his voice shake slightly, and Bilbo shuddered to hear it. His One was a prideful creature, and that tone did not appear often. “He was slain in battle long ago!”

With a filthy sneer the creature asked, “Oh, so you think his defiling days are done, do you?”

While the Goblin King gave instructions to his lesser, Bilbo quickly squeezed through their ranks so he was behind his One. He placed his hands on Thorin’s sides for reassurance. Through the armor he could feel Thorin shaking, but with what emotion he did not know. He cursed the dampened bond for the fifteenth time.

Just then, a goblin unsheathed Orcrist from its scabbard and went stark raving mad, its eyes nearly popping from its skull as it squealed in outrage. The Goblin King started screaming about cutting off heads as the hated sword was displayed for all to see.’ Whips were then unleashed upon the company, and Bilbo screamed as one caught him around the throat. When it was pulled back, he felt it slice his skin, and blood began running down into his collar. Thorin yelled in anger as he was taken to the ground, and his markings lit up as he began to chant, a nasty knife in his face and aiming for his throat -

Then the world went white, and an earth-shattering BANG pierced the air. In the hazy aftershock, they could hear Gandalf’s voice ringing out in the vast empty space of the cavern. His wise old face was covered in dirt, and he was a far cry from the gentle old man Bilbo had once smoked pipes with on his front porch; but at that moment he was no less a welcome sight for all of them.

“Take up arms!” The wizard cried, brandishing his staff in one hand. “Fight. Fight!”

No one had to be told a third time. The sight of the Grey Wizard galvanized each and every one of them. They had yet to see a problem a wizard couldn’t handle. With him by their side, the intent of the whole Company was united, all their shame and disgust was momentarily forgotten - or transformed into rage. Within moments they were moving with deadly force: those in the front threw weapons to those in the back, and it was on.

Nori dissolved into the black void that was his usual fighting stance and goblins squealed trying to escape him. The only one not affected by even this fantastical display of dwarven magic was the goblin king, who came forward with a gigantic weapon. He tried to bring it down on Thorin’s head, but Thorin met the attack head-on with a swooping stroke. A loud squeal of metal meeting preceded the gigantic monstrosity being completely overpowered. It stumbed twice, and then fell straight off of the platform! The rush of adrenaline and pride had Thorin snarling with a smirk. _And that,_ Bilbo thought smugly, _is a fitting end for a petty king: to be literally overthrown by a real one._

Then the dwarf king was rushed by the goblin king’s minions. He spun in a circle, slicing the heads off of four foes in one movement and slinging blood all about him. Bilbo, six feet or so from Thorin, stabbed his way through three goblins running for his One while completely ignoring the black blood splattering his tunic, his face a feral snarl that told the world he was having none of its shit today.

Dwalin’s muscles instantaneously expanded and he flew through foes like a bull in a china shop. (Were they not fighting for their lives, it would have been quite hilarious.) Gloin was throwing fireballs from his hands and had surrounded himself with a bonfire that quickly set his enemies and the area around him on fire.

“Move!” Thorin shouted upon seeing the flames devouring the very platform they stood upon. Quickly his men obeyed and they began running. He tossed his sword to Fili who caught it without a thought, twisted the cap off his wineskin and emptied the water into the air. He caught it with a few words, ignoring the taste of smoke in his mouth, and it obeyed him to become a _very_ pointy icicle that he would use to fly in and out of the necks of enemies he did not kill with Orcrist. Wordlessly he reached out and Fili tossed his sword back to him.

The royal brothers fought side by side, one step behind their king and his consort. Fili’s short swords were a blur as they sliced through the goblins on the left, and Kili’s sword was an arc of death on their right. Oin’s staff held up the middle of the pack as he needed more room than the others, Dori flanked Ori with his warhammer and the scribe just _ran,_ vowing to himself to get a proper weapon once they were through these mountains. Dwalin managed to sprint to the front, leaving Bifur (a fellow berserker) and Gloin to defend the back, Bombur in front of the latter with a hurriedly collected sword. Gloin was still setting fire to the goblins and wood around him, much to the satisfaction of all the dwarves, and his taunts could be heard by all. His khuzdul words of magic control did not come as fast as Thorin’s, but he was much more attuned to his magic and barely needed the words to begin with. His axe felled just as many foes as his fire and he felt his wife’s satisfaction humming through the bond from thousands of miles away.

All followed the wizard as he blasted through the ranks of goblins when he could, but there were always filthy bodies flowing in the spaces between the company members. Ori brought his (freshly acquired) warhammer down on the heads of those who came too close, and Bofur (just in front of him) used his mattock to dastardly ends, throwing goblin brains most everywhere. The other members of the company fought as hard as they could while running.

All was well until one goblin _flew_ down from a higher platform and slammed into Bilbo, taking the hobbit with it and straight off the platform. Thorin’s violent shout of denial was not lost in the din, and Kili nearly flew off as well in an attempt to grab him; only Fili’s hand kept him from plunging into the darkness.

Just like that, it was as if a switch had been flipped inside of Thorin. He roared, the magic within him swelling to proportions he had not been able to muster before, and water began flowing to him from anywhere it existed within a very large radius. He sprinted to the front where, across a small bridge, a bunch of goblins had created a roadblock of sorts. He allowed all of his rage and fear to flow through him and with a roar close to that of a mountain collapsing, an explosion rushed out of his hand. The tiny, impossibly-sharp projectiles went straight through their foes and continued going, flying through the bodies of those behind them until there was nowhere further for them to go and they curved back to return to their master.

His magic did not die so he knew his One had not, but the burning rage of _loss_ flew through him regardless. There was little for the company to do besides protect their flanks and rush after him as he destroyed all those in his path, snapping bones and slicing off heads with no care to the strength it took. The ice that had come back to him flew around him in a spherical cone of protection; more than one goblin died from getting too close instead of by elven steel. The ice was no longer clear or white but a tainted black, black with the blood of his foes. He saw exhaustion tingeing the edges of his vision but ignored it, instead focusing on the adrenaline flowing through his veins.

A movement above him made him jerk his head up, and he saw more of the goblins on ropes - the type that had _taken his One -_ flying towards them. “Cut the ropes!” He yelled hoarsely, and four of his men rushed to obey; which ones, he neither knew nor cared. The platform above them collided with the rope-flying goblins, and they spun around it twice before falling into the abyss.

********************************

Meanwhile, far below Goblin Town, Bilbo woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so terribly sorry for my absence and I hope you can forgive me.


End file.
